Legacy of Honor
by silveran
Summary: Five years after the Lion War, a girl witnesses a trial of a Holy Knight that would forever change her life. The Purge, another era of struggle for Ramza and his companions, would forge this young girl's life and help her find the true meaning of honor...
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The Lesalian Imperial Capital.

The capital stood at the heart of Ivalice for it _is_ the heart of Ivalice. Many merchants come daily to sell their wares at the huge city square that was located at the center of the capital where nobles and commoners alike could browse through the items. The taverns were full of drunken fools and rumors that spread rapidly like wildfire.

The sound of dogs barking and children playing in the streets were mixed with the sound of bartering merchants and warking chocobos, the normal din of the bustling capital.

But on this particular day, the capital remained strangely quiet. A lonely wind blew through the empty streets, scattering leaves in its wake.

The city square was transformed from a bustling marketplace into a court of law. Knights surrounded the square in order to quell any riot that may occur. In front of the square were two platforms; one facing the crowd and the other facing the other platform.

A lanky man with long black hair that framed a sallow face stood on the platform facing the crowd. He wore a black frock coat and black breeches. He stared at the big crowd that had gathered to hear the proceedings with his black eyes.

On the other platform stood two knights that flanked the accused. The prisoner looked at the judge and the thought of carrion crows was brought to mind. The captive then took a quick glimpse at a little girl that stood in front of the crowd, looking confused and frightened.

The little girl wondered why everyone was here. She was confused by all of this, she only being at the tender age of four. "What's going on, grandpa?" she asked in a soft voice to the man holding her hand.

"I don't know, Ramia," he replied in a gentle voice.

The man was as confused as the child was. The night before, Shrine Knights had barged into his keep asking for his daughter and arresting her. He demanded to know on what charges she was being arrested for and they said that he'd receive his answers at the public hearing tomorrow.

And so here he was with his granddaughter, waiting for the proceedings to begin. He frowned as he heard some nearby conversations.

"A Holy Knight, you say?" an old woman asked incredulously.

"Yes," a baritone voice replied gravely. "It's sad really. She was one of the best, or so I heard."

"What did she do to deserve this?" an old man asked curiously.

"Don't know," a middle-aged man answered. "Rumor has it, though, that she defected with a heretic."

"You don't say!" someone gasped.

Ramia's grandfather couldn't believe what he was hearing. It couldn't be true. His daughter defected with a heretic! It was an insane thought! If he ever found who spread those rumors, they would pay dearly! He knew his daughter would never defect with a heretic. She had served the royal family and church loyally ever since she became a knight. To betray them was against her code of honor.

_This is ludicrous!_, he thought angrily. _They'll see that they had made a mistake and everything will return to normal. _He nodded to reassure himself and waited patiently for the proceedings to begin.

After a few moments, the lanky man raised his thin arms signaling for the proceedings to begin. The crowd became silent and attentive as they listened to the man's words.

"People of Lesalia," he began in his deadpan voice, "I am Jaren Kazut, a Holy Priest of the Glabados Church."

Ramia heard her grandfather gasp and looked up to see him staring at Jaren with wide eyes and slightly gaping mouth. "Grandpa, what's wrong?" she asked in a small voice.

Her grandfather didn't listen as he continued to stare in shock at the priest. _A priest?_, he thought. _Then that means... No, I refuse to believe it! This has got to be a mistake!_

"You," the priest refused to acknowledge the prisoner's name, "have been charged with heresy!"

There came a collective gasp from the crowd. "Then the rumor was true!" someone exclaimed.

"But where's the proof?" someone else demanded, echoed by the rest of the crowd. The accused was popular among commoners and nobles alike. Jaren's declaration angered them. Even the knights surrounding the square seemed a bit uneasy.

The priest raised his arms again, silencing the crowd once more. "The proof," he began once he got the crowd's attention, "is right here!" He pulled out a bunch of papers from his coat and waved it at the crowd.

"Now tell me, good people of Lesalia, who ended the Lion War five years ago?" Jaren asked.

"Our benevolent King Delita," a man replied deep in the crowd.

"That is correct," Jaren nodded in agreement. "But," he held up the papers, "according to this, our king wasn't the one that ended the war. These papers claim that a blasphemer, a heretic, ended the war. It also tells that our king was born a commoner! Can you believe that? Our king, nothing but a commoner?"

Shouts of _No!_ rang throughout the square.

"These papers speak ill of our king," the priest continued his tirade. "Claiming that he wasn't the one that ended the war and claiming that he isn't of noble birth! The person that wrote this has already been burned at the stake for conjuring these lies!"

"And I suppose I will be too for knowing those so-called lies," the prisoner spoke for the first time. "More like the truth actually."

"So!" Jaren exclaimed as he pointed at the accused. "You admit that you have joined the heretic, Ramza Beoulve, on his crusade!"

"I only admit to knowing the truth behind the war," the prisoner replied strongly.

"What truth is there?" the priest demanded. "Prince Larg and Prince Goltana waged war over the throne! Everyone could see that! Am I right, people of Lesalia?"

Shouts of affirmation came from the crowd.

Jaren smirked. "You see? Everyone knows the truth and, therefore, your 'truth' must be a lie; one of the lies that Olan Durai wrote in these papers."

The prisoner gritted her teeth. _So Olan was brave enough to confront the church with the truth_, she thought sadly. _At least he tried. Rest well, my friend. You earned it. _The priest's impassive voice then brought her back from her thoughts.

"Then there's the death of Queen Ovelia," Jaren carried on. "Some believe it to be suicide while others claim that it was murder. King Delita believes it to be the former and so did no further investigation. However, the church has investigated into this matter and has come to the conclusion that Queen Ovelia was murdered!"

"By whom?" someone shouted.

"I was hoping someone would ask that question," the priest smiled, reminding the prisoner of cats that have cornered their prey. "Isn't it obvious?"

The prisoner heard the crowd murmur in speculation. "Now you're going to add murder to my charges?" she disputed.

"Why not?" the priest returned. "If I'm not mistaken, you used to be Queen Ovelia's bodyguard while she was staying at Orbonne Monastery. And you still remained her bodyguard when she became Queen."

"Nonsense!" the prisoner objected. "I wasn't even present at her coronation!"

"Perhaps," Jaren allowed, "but you still remained loyal to her. You deny returning to her after the war?"

"I do not deny that," the prisoner stated. "But I have no reason to kill her! It was my duty to protect her! Why would I want to kill her?"

"Because she found out that you were a heretic and tried to do the justice of killing you herself, but ended up getting killed," Jaren replied.

"What?" the accused exclaimed unbelievingly.

Jaren nodded. "There were signs of a struggle within that church ruin. And," he motioned for a knight, who held a small dagger across his palms, to step forward. Jaren then took the proffered dagger and flashed it to his gathered audience.

"This," he resumed, "was found at the scene of the crime! A dagger that is commonly carried by Holy Knights! The guilty, besides the King, is the only person close enough that could commit such a grisly act!"

The prisoner opened her mouth to protest then quickly shut it. _If I point out that Delita was also a Holy Knight before becoming king and that he could have committed the crime, then the priest will add treason to my list of charges for speaking against the king_, she thought then chuckled to herself. _I'm already dead anyway. It would make no difference._

She then glared defiantly at the priest as she shouted, "King Delita also carried such a dagger. Perhaps he killed her for I have no reason to."

"Treason!" the priest gasped. "You speak against your king! You're already deep in hot water, Agrias Oaks." He spat the name as if it left a bitter taste in his mouth. "Do you want me to add treason to your charges?"

Agrias shrugged. "It does not matter," she said. "I'm already dead."

Jaren smiled shrewdly at Agrias before looking at the crowd. "People of Lesalia," he began, "I have nothing further to discuss. You have heard her case and I believe her to be guilty on all three charges: guilty of heresy for aiding a heretic, guilty of murder for the death of Queen Ovelia, and guilty of treason for suggesting that the king had killed his own wife! Does any have anything to say in her defense?"

The crowd seemed uneasy and some knights looked defeated. They all wanted to say something in her defense, but they were afraid that they would be branded a heretic for helping a heretic.

Ramia noticed that her grandfather suddenly seemed cold and distant. "Grandpa?" she asked tentatively, but her grandfather ignored her deliberately.

"Does anyone want to add anything to these proceedings?" Jaren inquired after a moment of silence.

"Yes, I do," Ramia heard her grandfather reply as he stepped forward.

Jaren looked at the slightly built man, who sported a long mustache and shoulder-length blonde hair. "Name and occupation?" the priest queried.

"Lord Agnes Oaks," the man replied loudly, "retired commander of Lesalia's St. Konoe Knights."

Jaren's brow raised a fraction in speculation when he heard the man's name. "I assume that you are Agrias' father...?" Agnes nodded. "And have you come to defend your daughter, Lord Oaks?" Jaren continued.

This time Agnes shook his head. "No," he replied.

"A wise decision, Lord Oaks," the priest smiled. "Now, what is it that you wish to add?"

"This," Agnes stated as he roughly grabbed Ramia by the hand and shoved her in front of him. The little girl let out a small whimper at her grandfather's rough behavior. Jaren looked curiously at the girl then at Lord Oaks, prompting him to explain.

"She is her child," Agnes informed the priest. "What shall be done to her?"

Jaren rubbed his chin as he gazed at the young girl. "I wasn't informed that she had a child," he said. "Who is the father?"

"I don't know," Agnes shrugged. "She never really spoke about the father and so I assumed that he might have been killed during the war."

Jaren remained silent for a while, pondering on what to do with a heretic's child. Then: "How old is she?" he asked.

"Four," Agnes stated.

Jaren nodded and smiled. "You don't have to worry, Lord Oaks. She is still at the age of innocence and, therefore, is not tainted by her mother's blood. But I do question about the father." He then turned his gaze to Agrias.

"I'll take that secret with me to my grave," Agrias stated defiantly.

"A pity," the priest said regretfully. "Then perhaps a little _persuasion_ will help loosen your tongue."

Jaren motioned to the two knights standing on either side of Agrias. The knights began shoving the prisoner towards the other platform. "I had not plan on turning this public hearing to a public scourging," the priest informed the crowd. "But the issue of this child's heritage rests in her hands. She determines the future of her daughter, whether she goes free or work along with her mother because of her unclean blood if I deem the father is unclean as well."

Jaren then turned to Agrias, who was being tied up to a post by the two knights. Her armor was removed and her long braided hair cut, leaving her back exposed. "I ask you one last time who the father is and I will end this public display of your humiliation," Jaren offered.

Agrias remained silent.

"Very well," the priest said then nodded to one of the knights.

The knight, his cape and breastplate removed, let fall the coils of a heavy whip. He snapped it a few times, the cracks deafening to those close by. Ramia wondered what the knight planned to do with the weapon. She then gasped when the knight landed his first lash against her mother's back. The lash cut through her blue tunic and left a long, angry stripe of red against her flesh.

"Grandpa! What's happening?" Ramia asked frantically as she tugged on Agnes' pant leg. "Why are they hurting Mama? Why?"

"Be quiet!" Agnes whispered harshly, slapping the child's hand away from his leg. Ramia whimpered as she cradled her injured hand. "And stay quiet!" her grandfather added angrily.

Ramia looked up fearfully at her grandfather. His behavior had quickly changed from a loving grandfather to a monster. _What's going on?_, she thought desperately.

After ten lashes, Jaren motioned the knight to stop. He then turned to Agrias, who was slightly breathing heavily. "Unpleasant, yes?" He smiled one of his feral smiles. "But you can stop the pain just by telling me who the father is. Well?"

Agrias remained adamantly silent.

"Very well," Jaren sighed before motioning the knight to continue.

The knight only managed to deliver two blows before a child's cry broke through his concentration.

"Mama!" Ramia shouted as she ran to the platform.

"Come back here!" Agnes demanded as he ran after the child.

Ramia continued to run and soon she was on the platform, tugging at the priest's robes. "Stop, please!" she cried, tears running down her slightly chubby cheeks. "I'll tell, I'll tell!"

Soon, Agnes came muttering apologies as he was about to take Ramia, but Jaren motioned him to halt. He then looked at the child and smiled as he knelt down to her size. "Do you know who your father is?" he asked her gently. Ramia nodded meekly. "Can you tell me who he is? What's his name?"

"Ramia, no!" Agrias protested, her voice heavy with pain.

"Go on, child," Jaren encouraged with a smile. "Tell me who he is and your mother will feel no more pain."

"You promise?" the girl asked.

"I swear it on St. Ajora," the priest nodded.

"Ok," Ramia said. She then began to tell everything she knew about her father. "Mama said that Papa was a noble man who fought in the war," she said. "She said that Papa was a great swordsman and that I should be proud of him."

"Can you tell me his name?" Jaren asked, biding his patience.

"No," Ramia shook her head. "Mama never told me his name, only stories."

"Clever, Agrias," the priest smirked as he turned to look at her. "Not even telling your own child the name of her father. Clever indeed. I would flog you some more, but I gave your child my word," he said this while patting Ramia's head. "I find no fault with the child. She is free to grow up normally."

He then stood up and faced the crowd. "The time for questioning has passed," he shouted over the din. "Now it's time for the sentencing."

As the priest addressed the crowd, Agrias felt her bonds removed from the post. She forced herself to stand upright, for she would not show weakness. But—by St. Ajora!—her back felt like it was on fire!

"Agrias Oaks," Jaren began as he faced her, "you have been found guilty on all three charges of heresy, murder, and treason. You are hereby stripped of your rank and are sentenced to help rebuild Fort Zeakden and other ruins from the war along with other convicts such as yourself for as long as you have breath in your body."

"What?" Agrias exclaimed as she took a threatening step towards the priest. That small movement, however, sent her vision whirling, her back afire. She suddenly felt very weak and would have fallen if one of the knights hadn't caught her.

"You thought you were going to be sentenced to death," Jaren stated, "but that is not the case. Because of your excellent service as a Holy Knight, your sentence is moderate at best. But I don't like the idea of heretics, like yourself, being left alive and being able to spread 'lies' around, so here's what I'll do. Your tongue shall be cut so no one can hear your blasphemies."

"I'd rather prefer death than lifelong servitude!" Agrias shouted defiantly.

"I see death as an act of mercy," the priest countered, "a luxury that one seeks to escape this world. Well," he smiled cruelly, "you won't find that luxury anytime soon. I'll make sure of it." He waved an arm and shouted, "Take the prisoner away!"

Seeing that the hearing was at an end, the crowd began to disperse. Some shook their heads while others whispered disappointment. Several knights were regretful that they couldn't help the one who may have one day been Commander of Lesalia's knights.

Wondering where they were taking her mother, Ramia ran after them, shouting, "Mama!"

"No, Ramia," Agnes said gently as he grabbed the child by the shoulder. His demeanor had softened when the priest had announced that she was innocent.

The little girl looked up tearfully at her grandfather. "Where are they taking her?" she asked innocently. "Where?"

Agnes knelt down and looked at her sadly. "I'm sorry, Ramia, but you must forget about your mother," he said. "Forget that she _was_ even your mother. It's for your own good."

"Why?" Ramia sniffed as she rubbed an arm across her teary eyes. "Why do I have to forget? What did she do? Did she do something bad?"

Lord Oaks sighed. _Though the priest said that Ramia is innocent, I cannot help but feel burdened by her_, he thought miserably. He then saw Jaren walk away to follow the guilty. "Milord!" he called out to him.

Jaren looked back and asked a bit impatiently, "What is it, Lord Oaks? I am a very busy priest."

Agnes took Ramia by the hand and went up to the lanky priest. "It's Ramia," he replied. "I know she is innocent," he quickly added when Jaren was about to retort, "but I cannot raise her. Her presence will always remind me of this day and my presence will always remind her of her mother, who she must certainly forget."

Jaren stroked his pointed chin as he pondered on Agnes' argument. "Yes, Lord Oaks," he nodded after a moment's pause, "your reasoning is sound. Very well. I will take the child until I can find a noble family that will adopt her."

Agnes nodded then knelt down besides the little girl. "I'm sorry, Ramia, but I must leave you," he said to her. "You'll be safer with Father Jaren than with me. Please understand." He then hugged her tightly. "Know that I love you and you'll always be close to my heart." His voice started to crack with emotion and he had to pull away lest he lose control of them. He looked one last time at his granddaughter, imprinting her face into his mind for all eternity, then walked away only to disappear into the crowd.

"Grandpa!" Ramia shouted after him, but only watched as he walked away from her life, maybe forever.

"Ramia," the priest called softly and the little girl turned to see his hand extended. "Come, child. I have many tasks to do and you are one of them."

Ramia looked back, hoping to get a glimpse of her grandfather one last time, but she never manage to find him. She then reluctantly took the priest's hand and followed automatically to their destination. She was confused and frightened. She lost the only family she knew in one day. Her future seemed as uncertain as to what life has to bring on the morrow.

Ramia looked back at the two platforms, at the city square, at the place where her life had changed before it was swallowed from her vision by Lesalia's walls as both she and the priest turned a corner. That was the last time she would set eyes on that city square...

The trial of Agrias Oaks was the first to mark the beginning of what was later known as "The Purge", the hunting down of heretics who were written in Olan's papers.

As to the fate of Ramia Oaks, she was adopted into the Birch family, who was stationed in Limberry. Lord Andrew Birch was a good friend to Lord Agnes Oaks and had welcomed the child with open arms.

And so, Ramia Oaks became Ramia Birch.


	2. The Hunted

**Chapter One: The Hunted**

The Kingdom of Ivalice.

A land that was once divided into seven ruling families, that was once divided into two over who would serve as regent, is a land now united under the rule of King Delita and Queen Ovelia.

Or was.

Several months after the Lion War, the queen was found dead at the ruins of Zeltennia's church on the day of her birthday. This event rocked the recently war torn country, the delicate balance of power slightly shifting. After the funeral, the balance of power rocked dangerously.

The king completely disappeared soon after the funeral. No one knew of his whereabouts as if he vanished like a wraith.

The queen's death and his disappearance had resulted in Ivalice's turmoil. For the next four years the only ruling family, Lesalia, tried to maintain order in the chaotic kingdom that was Ivalice. But Prince Clemence wasn't as strong as Goltana or as cunning as Larg and the disorder continued to grow until it was as the year before the Lion War broke out. On the fifth year, however, the balance began to equalize.

Olan Durai had made the mistake of presenting his report to Prince Clemence. Being a devout believer in the teachings of Glabados, the prince immediately brought the papers to the Church for scrutiny upon reading it.

The Church claimed the report to be full of lies, blasphemies. They sent Father Peter Batou, an old Pagan Examiner that was on the verge of retirement, to deal with the blasphemous Astrologist. Being the obedient servant that he was, Father Peter arrested and executed Olan the same way that all heretics were dealt with: being burned at the stake.

After the deed was done, High Priest Aaron Hex decided to meet with the elders of the Church to discuss on what to do with the report. This meeting was known as the Council of Murond.

At the Council, the elders unanimously decided that the report should be kept safe at the vault of Murond's library. However, one argued that the report could be put to good use.

That one was Father Jaren Kazut.

The ambitious priest reasoned with the elders that though the author of the report was dead, there were still others that knew the truth. He suggested that they should use the report to hunt those 'heretics' and make an example of them.

The High Priest agreed along with the rest of the elders. Hex appointed Jaren the task of collecting the blasphemers and to deal with them as he sees fit. He also gave him command over the knights of the Church and over all priests and pagan examiners, nearly giving him the power of High Priest. Father Jaren Kazut was now a Cardinal in the eyes of the Church, but to the rest of Ivalice, he was only a Holy Priest.

After being selected by the High Priest to lead the hunt, Jaren immediately left Murond and decided to base his operation at Lesalia, the capital of Ivalice. Prince Clemence, the acting ruler of the chaotic kingdom, humbly offered his position to Father Jaren who kindly refused, but offered to advise the prince in political as well as in religious matters.

In essence, Prince Clemence was just a puppet ruler with the Church doing the real ruling.

The result?

The prince blindly following every 'advice' Jaren gave, eager to please the Church in any way possible.

And Jaren valued this very much for the prince was a big influence among the people and among the knight orders that were not under the Church. He was still in 'charge' after all. It was this fact that led Jaren to his first arrest and trial in a mere few days since his move to Lesalia.

It was also this fact that he was able to instigate new laws throughout Ivalice. No one was to leave the country without proper authorization from Prince Clemence. All cities and towns were to monitor people going in and out. No one escaped the scrutiny of the prince or, more likely, the Cardinal.

And if they somehow did, Jaren placed wanted posters in the soldier offices of every town and city in Ivalice. If his knights couldn't find them, then perhaps mercenaries will. The price on the heads of the heretics would make even the simplest of peasants take up a sword.

Cardinal Jaren Kazut was confident that it would be only a matter of time before they were brought to him...

* * *

Lamps were lit within houses and shutters opened to the curious as the sleeping citizens of Goug Machine City were awakened by shouts of Shrine Knights searching the streets. Torches were held high, casting eerie shadows among the buildings that lined the streets as the clanking of armor filled the night air.

Two figures were huddled in the corner of a condemned building, hidden behind some small rotting crates. A knight entered the building and the pair held their breath as they heard his footsteps echo among the cracked walls.

The duo huddled very close as they tried to remain hidden in the dark. They soon saw the light of the torch as the knight approached their hiding spot. The knight waved its torch around and seeing nothing out of the ordinary, deemed the building empty and left.

"Clear!" they heard the knight shout and the search moved on to another part of the city.

Both waited for a moment longer before one of them risked a peek over the crates. "It's safe," the individual announced as he knelt back down besides his companion. "They're gone." The person then brushed his blonde hair back as he sighed. "We have to get out of the city."

"That's quite a task," his companion replied in a deep voice. "Especially with the condition my legs are in."

"I'm not abandoning you this time, father!" the first person exclaimed. "You knew that it would be a matter of time before the Church found out our involvement with Ramza! Did you think we could continue hiding from the Church?"

"You're right, Mustadio," Besrodio, Mustadio's father, sighed. "We have to escape."

"But how...?" Mustadio whispered as he looked around his surroundings. "If only Worker 8 would listen to me, it would have provided a distraction for the knights while we escape," he added angrily as he tried to think of a way out.

As the gears in his inventive mind whirled, Mustadio looked around. The building was empty save for only the rotting crates they were hiding behind. The stone walls were lined with so many cracks that it seemed the building would fall upon them any moment. The few windows present were boarded up with wooden planks, moonlight filtering in between the gaps. The situation looked hopeless.

Suddenly, the gears in his mind clicked when he saw something glint beneath some crates in a dark corner. Mustadio stood up and approached those crates. He then began removing the crates as silently as he could.

"What are you doing?" Besrodio asked curiously as he went to help his son.

"There's something under here," the Engineer replied, hefting a particularly large crate to the side. That only left one very large crate between him and his goal. He then went to the side of the crate and placed his weight against it, trying to push it away from his objective. He panted with the effort, but it refused to budge. "Father, I could use a little help here," he suggested after a few minutes.

"Yes, of course," Besrodio obliged as he went to stand by his son. With both of their efforts, they managed to slide the crate away to reveal a hidden hatch. "Just as I expected!" Mustadio exclaimed softly as he knelt down and wipe the dirt and dust that had gathered on the hatch door. "A hatch that leads to the underground passageways!"

Hatches were located all over Goug Machine City. All led to various parts of the underground mines where mechanics, such as the Bunanzas, worked to restore the 'past legacies'. But there were also some unknown or hidden hatches and it seemed to Mustadio that they found one of those particular hatches. He noted its condition.

Rust covered the hinges and when he pulled on the door, it wouldn't budge just as he predicted. "This hatch has been unused for quite a long time," the Engineer muttered as he took out his oil can and began applying it to the hinges. "This may take a while."

Besrodio nodded. The crippled mechanic leaned against a wall as he sat down, listening to the squeaking sound of Mustadio's oil can at work. After a few minutes, Besrodio began to doze off, the squeaking oil can like a high-pitched lullaby that lulled him to the dream world. He was about to enter that realm, his eyes drooping when suddenly, he heard some footsteps approaching followed by voices.

"Where did they go?" someone demanded.

"I don't know," someone else replied. "We've already searched this place."

"Then search it again!" another commanded. "Father Jaren will have our heads if we don't find them! If we need to search the city ten times, then we'll search the city ten times! But one thing is certain; we can't let them escape! Now go!"

Besrodio heard some hurried footsteps go the opposite direction, but there were a few that were coming in their direction. He turned to his son, who had also been listening to the conversation.

"Here," Mustadio said as he handed the oil can to his father. "Finish oiling the hinges." He then took out his Blast Gun. "I'll try to slow them down."

Besrodio grabbed his son's arm as he was about to leave. "Be careful," he said solemnly when his son turned to look at him.

Mustadio grinned and said, "Don't worry, father. It's those knights that should be careful." With the same grin plastered on his face, Mustadio vanished into the streets.

The mechanic quickly hid in the alley next to the condemned building and carefully peeked to the side. He saw two Shrine Knights marching down the street, their torches blazing off their golden armor, making it look as if he saw the sun on a clear noonday.

And that meant that he could shoot from the darkness without exposing himself to the light of their torch.

Mustadio knelt down and took careful aim at one of the knights' legs. When he was confident that he had a perfect shot, he fired...

...and smiled when the knight screamed in panic.

"My legs!" the knight shouted as he waved his arms around frantically, almost scorching his fellow's face. "I can't move my legs!"

"Hey! Watch where you're waving that thing!" the other knight snapped as he ducked his partner's torch. "And what are you talking about? You were walking a minute ago."

As one knight panicked and the other pondered the impossibility of it all, Mustadio snickered softly as he took aim at the other knight's leg. He smirked as he pulled the trigger, but cursed when he saw that he missed.

The knights suddenly stopped arguing when they heard the missed bullet ricochet off a wall. "Did you hear that?" the knight who was still mobile whispered.

"Yeah," the other replied.

"Stay here," the first knight instructed his partner as he drew out his sword.

"It's the only thing I can do," the other knight replied derisively. "I can't move, remember?"

But the first knight didn't listen to his partner's complaint as he moved cautiously down the street, waving his torch back and forth to dispel the surrounding shadows. "Who's there?" he shouted, his voice echoing down the street.

Mustadio took aim once again at the approaching knight's leg. _Please don't miss!_, he prayed as he pulled the trigger.

The knight suddenly found himself glued to the ground. "Blast it! I can't move!" he growled as he willed his legs to budge.

Mustadio, seeing that his work was done, holstered his gun and quickly joined his father back at the condemned building. "I've managed to stop their advance," he told Besrodio, "but I don't know how long it will last. Are you almost done, father?"

"Almost ," Besrodio grunted as he continued to apply the oil to the rusted hinges. "There!" he exclaimed moments later when he had finished his task. The hatch silently opened when Besrodio opened it and he carefully made his way down the ladder.

Mustadio watched anxiously as his father climbed down then turned to look back at the door of the building when he heard one of the knights had regained control of his legs. "Hurry, father!" he whispered urgently before looking back. He saw the light of a torch glowing brighter and brighter as the knight approached closer and closer.

The mechanic looked back down at the hatch and saw that his father was far down enough that he could follow. He quickly jumped down into the hatch and closed it the moment the knight reached the building...

* * *

Rad dragged the body of a Shrine Knight he had managed to defeat quickly and quietly into a warehouse in Gariland's industrial district. "You're a heavy fellow, aren't you?" he groaned as he continued to drag the body until he was behind some piled up bags full of grain. It was a good a spot as any, as long as he was well hidden from the entrance.

The recently dubbed knight began stripping the Shrine Knight of his armor and weapon. "I hope we're the same size," he stated as he began to strip himself of his armor and weapon. He then began strapping on the Shrine Knight's armor.

"It's a bit loose, but I guess it'll have to do," Rad whispered, finishing his disguise by buckling the Shrine Knight's sword to his hip. He was about to leave, but then looked back at the unconscious knight and his scattered armor and an idea began to form in his head that would surely make his escape a whole lot simpler.

Rad knelt down besides the unconscious knight and began dressing him in his armor. As he was finishing up his work, the knight began to stir. "Can't have you waking up on me, yet," the disguised knight said as he punched the Shrine Knight, knocking him out cold again.

After buckling on the sword, Rad carried the unconscious knight out of the warehouse and into the damp streets. Water between the causeways of the city threatened to overflow, flooding the roads, as rain continued to fall in abundance.

Rad didn't mind the rain since it did help to slow his pursuit. He knew that regular knights would have waited for the weather to improve before they would resume a search, but Shrine Knights were a different story. When it comes to doing the business of the Church, they were determined to carry it out.

Even through the roughest of storms.

The disguised fugitive sighed as he adjusted the weight of the unconscious knight. He then looked around for the torches that would indicate the location of one of the many search parties spread throughout Gariland. But instead, someone found him.

"Hey, you!" he heard someone call out to him through the thundering rain. "What have you got there?"

Rad turned to see a heavy built Shrine Knight approach him with a torch that threatened to fizzle out any moment. "I found the heretic, sir," Rad stated, praying that the knight won't recognize him or the 'heretic'. "He put up a good fight, but I managed to subdue him."

Rad then held his breath as the knight brought his torch closer to take a look. Fortunately, at that moment, the torch sputtered as it went out. "Curse this weather!" he heard the knight mutter.

Rad sighed softly in relief when the torch decided to die. _I guess there is a god, after all_, he thought with a smile. "What should I do with him?" he asked a bit more confidently.

There was a moment of silence, the rain clattering against their armor, lightning flashing, temporarily illuminating their surroundings before thunder crashed around them. "Give him to me," the knight finally said. "You tell the others to call off the search. We need to bring the heretic immediately to Father Jaren for sentencing."

_Father Jaren_, Rad thought in disgust as he handed the unconscious knight. He remembered that name well for it was the priest who had placed a price on his head as all his friends. He heard that the priest had managed to capture one of his friends but, sadly, he did not know which one.

Rad forced the thoughts away as he nodded to the knight and said, "All right."

He then ran off to the distant torches he saw in the residential area of Gariland Magic City. His armor clanked as he splashed through puddles that covered the streets. He ran blindly through the streets, breathing heavily as rain splashed into his eyes. His hair was plastered against his head and he was soaked, his drenched armor weighing him down, but that didn't stop him from making his escape.

The disguised fugitive did not plan on calling off the search as he was 'ordered' to do. Instead, he ran straight for the exit, which was fortunately in the opposite direction of a nearby search party.

Rad swore he heard the plains calling out to him, promising sanctuary, as he neared the exit. He finally reached it and saw that chocobos were picketed by the gates. Unfortunately, they were guarded by one knight. Rad decided to kill him quickly.

He waved at the guard and uttered a greeting, which the other guard kindly returned with a smile and a wave of his hand. But that smile faded when Rad quickly ran him through with his sword. The man stared at him in shock then at the sword that was thrust into his abdomen.

"Forgive me," Rad whispered as he pushed his sword deeper into the man's gut. The guard finally fell over, his eyes glazing over before they closed.

Rad pushed the guard off his sword before going to the picketed chocobos. He went to the nearest chocobo and placed saddle and harness on it before mounting. He then cut the rope that bound it to the fence.

Soon the disguised fugitive was riding off into the stormy night unsure of where to hide from the Church...

* * *

Mustadio let out a sigh of relief when he finally reached the bottom of the ladder. "We'll be safe here for the time being," he declared as he took a couple of breaths to ease his pounding heart. He then looked at Besrodio and asked, "How are you doing, father?"

Besrodio sat on the ground, massaging his sore legs. "I'll be fine once I'm rested," he replied.

Mustadio nodded. "All right. I'll take a look around. Maybe there's something here that we could use to make your journey easier, father." Besrodio nodded his assent and his son left.

The young blonde-haired mechanic looked around at the huge piles of junk that were scattered around the place. He hadn't been in this section of the underground mines and so found many interesting things among the piles of junk such as a generator and a glass bulb that seemed to fit the description of a 'light bulb' he had read in one of the many books in his father's study.

As much as he wanted to stay and restore the 'past legacies', he had yet to find something that would make their journey easier and faster through the mines to a certain hatch that led outside of the city's walls. That hatch was a long walk from where they were and knowing the condition his father's legs were in, they would be making a lot of pit stops.

And time was against them.

They had to travel quickly before the knights found out about the underground mines and spread their search there. Mustadio began to rummage through the piles of junk, trying to find something that could benefit them. "No," he muttered as he threw a mechanical arm over his shoulder. "No," he muttered again, this time throwing a metal plate with several severed wires over his shoulder.

"No, no, no!" he cried out in frustration as he continued to throw useless items over his shoulder. "There has to be something useful down here! There has—"

He stopped his rant when he heard something deep within the mines. It was a faint bubbling sound. Mustadio stood up from his task, curious to find the source of that noise. Unfortunately, it was hard to pinpoint the exact location since it echoed off the walls of the mines seemingly coming from every direction. The mechanic, however, did manage to find the source of the sound.

He came upon a hidden wharf. The sound he heard was the water that flowed through the mines. "I never knew there was an underground river," he said as he stooped by the water's edge. "But what is its source?"

He scooped some water into his gloved hand and took a tentative sip, sputtering afterwards. "Salty!" he spat. He stood up and looked down the dark tunnel. "If the water is salty, then this river must come from the sea! And that means we can escape to the sea using this river. If only I could—"

His voice got caught in his throat when he spotted something afloat at the end of the pier he was standing on. Curious, he approached the floating object, the beating of his boots against the wooden pier echoing eerily around the cavern. Mustadio couldn't believe his eyes once he saw what was the floating object.

It was a hovercraft, one of the 'past legacies'! Mustadio admired its sleek design. The vessel was about ten feet across, which wasn't too large since a hovercraft was built for speed. There was a huge propeller fixed to the back to thrust the vessel forward through the rough waves.

Mustadio touched the vessel reverently, afraid that it would break apart at the slightest movement. "I can't believe it!" he whispered in awe as he stroked the hull. "A hovercraft..."

The vessel rocked slightly as he carefully boarded. "I wonder who restored it," Mustadio whispered as he looked around the vessel.

According to history, the hovercraft was only used for water travel. It was not strong enough to go into deep waters, but it was fast enough to travel along the shallows. It was also easier to explore sea caves that lined the rocky shores. "This would certainly make our escape easier," Mustadio mused before going to the control panel at the front of the boat.

He studied the dashboard, taking note of the many gauges and switches. He dare not touch any of them until his father had a look at it. Satisfied with his find, Mustadio jumped off the vessel and ran to fetch his father. The sooner he returned with him, the sooner they could leave Goug.

The Engineer quickly maneuvered among the piles of metal, but stopped when something caught his eye. Intrigued, he slowly went to the pile that had grabbed his attention and knelt down, pushing away the various debris until he found his source of curiosity.

"Can it be...?" he asked himself as he carefully pulled out a large, thick stick with a fuse fixed at the end of it.

"It is!" he exclaimed excitedly after thoroughly examining the object. He carefully placed the item in his bag before rummaging through the pile to see if he could find any more of the object. After a few minutes of searching, he had found ten of the things.

"I'd better hurry," he said to himself as he placed the items into his bag, realizing that he's delaying their escape, before hurrying to his father.

* * *

Besrodio waited anxiously for his son. "I hope he hasn't decided to start tinkering with any of these broken machines," he said to himself. He then looked up when he heard someone approaching, their steps heard in the crunch of twisted metal.

"Let's go, father!" Mustadio exclaimed as he came around a bend. "I found something that should speed our escape."

"It's about time," Besrodio said as his son helped him stand. "So, where is this 'thing' that could quicken our escape?"

"Back there," Mustadio replied, pointing at the direction he had come from. "I think you'll be amazed once you see it," he added cryptically with a boyish grin.

"Oh, really?" Besrodio returned the grin. "Then please, lead the way."

Mustadio nodded. Both father and son traversed through the mines, negotiating around the huge piles of metal, the graveyard of junk, as one would put it.

Besrodio looked at his surroundings. It seemed that this part of the mines hadn't been explored by anyone. The heaps of scrap were in neat mounds and most scraps of metal were already covered in rust as much as the hatch they used to get down here. The older mechanic then heard something that he thought wasn't possible in the mines.

The sound of running water.

"A river?" The question was intended for himself, but Mustadio heard him and replied, "Yes. That's where we're headed."

After a few moments, they had reached the hidden wharf. "This way, father," Mustadio said as he walked along the wooden pier. Besrodio followed his son. "Well, here's the 'thing' I found," Mustadio grinned again as he waved his arm at the hovercraft. "We could use this to follow the river that leads to the sea. What do you think?"

Besrodio was rendered speechless as he slowly approached the craft. Like his son before him, he reverently touched the vessel. "A hovercraft..." he whispered as he looked over the hull. "But how did it get here? Who rebuilt it?"

Mustadio shrugged as he boarded the hovercraft. "Does it matter?" he asked as he went to the dash. "But whoever rebuilt it was kind enough to leave the keys in the ignition."

"But even so," Besrodio began as he slowly embarked the craft after his son, "do you think they were also kind enough to leave some fuel for the engine?"

"We'll just have to find out," his son replied as he turned the keys. He gave a yelp of triumph when the engine sputtered into life. He then looked at the gauge that measured the amount of fuel left. It showed that the tank was only half full, but he hoped that would be enough to escape the city and to find a place to take refuge from the Church.

Mustadio turned back to see his father admiring the sleek vessel. "I know how much you want to study the vehicle, father," Mustadio stated, "but we haven't got the time."

"I know," Besrodio sighed. He then occupied the only seat on the vessel, next to his son standing in front of the helm. "Shall we be going?" he asked as he settled down.

Mustadio nodded and smiled. "Hold on tight!" He shifted into gear and the small vessel shot through the water.

The Engineer steered the hovercraft adeptly through the mines, sometimes shifting gears to negotiate tight turns and twists. After maneuvering through some tricky obstacles, both father and son saw the cave opening to the sea.

"We made it!" Mustadio whooped for joy as they shot through the cave opening like a bullet from the barrel of a gun.

"Yes, but where should we go now?" his father asked, dampening his son's victorious mood. "We can't keep traveling on this hovercraft. Our fuel supply is limited."

"Yes, you're right," Mustadio sighed then smiled. "At least be glad that we escaped the city safely! Those knights will be searching the city for months!"

Besrodio couldn't help but chuckle at that notion.

Mustadio laughed as well, but knew that his father was right. _Where are we to hide? What are we to do?_ The troubled Engineer continued to direct the hovercraft through the shallows as these thoughts raced through his mind.

Unlike the inventive Engineer though, two knight maidens had those questions answered.

Work as tavern wenches in the Golden Chocobo was not the employment Lavian Wayte and Alicia Lavitz had hoped to find in Yardow Fort City, but they bore their disappointment stoically. They had hoped to find jobs as mercenaries, but the soldier office was already full of potential candidates and would not accept more whether they were experienced or not. So, they had settled for serving ale and avoiding the many catcalls of zealous patrons, bearing this degradation of their status with as much optimism as possible. At least it was a place where they could remain inconspicuous and where they could gather information from all around Ivalice since the tavern attracted travelers across the continent. It was all they could do for now until they could find better jobs. Or better yet...

...they could clear their names and return to their old lives.

But both knew that could never be for the Church would forever hunt them, knowing that they knew the truth behind the war.

Just as Lady Agrias.

Both knights had been present during their lady's trial, witnessing the crude haircut and the blows against her back. They knew how much Agrias had cherished her mane, brushing it every morning and braiding it afterwards. Her long hair was a symbol of her status as a lady knight in the service of the royal family. To have it cut was a disgrace, a blow against one's honor.

And they had seen those blows against her honor as the knight lashed her like any common criminal.

But probably the most haunting scene they had witnessed that day was the separation of mother and child, a rift that could never be mended. And all because the child's mother knew the truth.

To the two knights, it was a sad scene to watch. Again they knew how Agrias had adored her daughter, always showering her with affection. They had watched the relationship between mother and daughter grow. How could they not when they were personal knights of the Lady Agrias Oaks?

It was this very fact that led Agrias to tell them the identity of Ramia's father. She had imparted them that secret, knowing that she could trust them. That was the last time they had spoken before she was arrested and tried.

Immediately after the trial, the two knights left Lesalia and traveled to Yardow Fort City. And found employment at the Golden Chocobo.

Alicia sighed as she sat in front of a mirror, brushing her middle-length auburn hair while Lavian sat on a chair near the hearth reading a book. Alicia sighed again, placing the brush down on the dresser, her task done.

"Well, I'm off," she announced with as much cheer as possible to Lavian. "Be back at the usual time." Lavian nodded and the redhead left.

Fire crackled softly in the hearth as the only occupant of the small house quietly turned the page of her book. Lavian was fully engrossed in the story she was reading.

It told of a war between two nations and how a young prince ended it, bringing peace to the war torn land. Three years later, he was crowned king and had married the princess of the empire that was once his enemy. Two years after their marriage, a son was born to them and the king named him after his father who had perished in the war.

But tragedy struck after the prince's first birthday.

The prince was found gone one morning. It seemed that someone managed to sneak into the palace during the night and kidnap him. The king sent out a search party, but with no results. After weeks of searching, the king gave up with a sad heart.

Little did he know though, his son was alive and well and in the care of his soon-to-be-enemy...

Would the king see his son again? What plans did the enemy have for the young prince?

These questions ran through Lavian's mind as she shut the book. Those questions would have to be answered at a later date.

A cold draft unexpectedly flowed through the room causing the brunette to shiver slightly despite her close proximity to the hearth. She stood up and went to the only window in the common room, but instead of shutting it, she decided to look up at the stars.

It was a clear night, the stars radiating their brilliance on a poorly lit city. The moon was a slender crescent, like a sleepy eye that threatened to close completely. Lavian leaned against the windowsill, admiring the stars as she named some of the constellations in her mind.

But the thought of stars reminded her of the Astrologist, Olan Durai, who was burned at the stake for his crime of 'heresy'. That thought then led back to her memory of the trial then to the edicts of Prince Clemence. Soon Lavian found herself wondering about the fate of the others. Were they alive or dead? Did they manage to escape the Church? If yes, where are they?

The brunette sighed as she pulled the shutters closed and locked them into place. Though the situation looked bleak, she hoped that they would see them again in the near future. For now, she and Alicia would have to make the best of their dire situation.

* * *

A month had passed since his first of—Jaren had hoped—many trials, but none came afterwards.

The Cardinal was very displeased. He had been very confident that the measures he took into capturing the heretics would have succeeded, but somehow they had managed to elude him.

And to add to his displeasure, only half of the former Holy Knight's sentence had been carried out. She had been sitting in her cell for the past month, mute, and only suffering from lack of food and water. Jaren had hoped to cart her to Fort Zeakden along with the rest of her companions, but it seems she would be going alone. He would not delay her sentence any longer.

"Tomas," the lanky priest called a robed knight, who was leaning against the hearth in his study.

The knight shifted his gaze from the flames burning in the fireplace to the priest that was sitting behind his desk. "Yes, Milord?" he replied.

"Get an escort of knights ready," Jaren instructed the Divine Knight. "I want the prisoner carted to Fort Zeakden on the morrow."

Tomas ducked his head and said, "As you wish, Milord."

The Divine Knight then left the study, leaving the Cardinal to solve the problem of achieving results of his ongoing search of the heretics.


	3. Way of Suffering

**Chapter Two: Way of Suffering**

Oaks Keep.

A large stone edifice that sat on a hill overlooking the capital, forever vigilant in its watch against unwelcome visitors, as it has been for the past one hundred and fifty years.

The Oaks family had been serving the royal family since then. Though not as prominent as the Beoulve in Gallione, they were known for their fierce loyalty to the royal family and their strong sense of justice. Their devotion to the royal family is unmatched by any other noble family. They are the only family to ever witness the last moments of the sovereigns of Ivalice with King Omdolia being the most recent.

The Oaks had not only been leaders of Lesalia's St. Konoe Knights; they had also been members of the local Knights of the Atkascha Family, ranking among the highest in the knighthood. It was their tradition.

But it seems that tradition will come to an end when the last lord of the keep passes from this life to the next.

Lord Agnes Oaks was the last for he had no heir. His only heir had broke their family tradition when she had defected with the heretic Ramza. He would have made his granddaughter his heir but she too was lost for she could never know the evil her mother had done.

Yes, the Oaks name has been spoiled and there was nothing Agnes could do about it.

The days after the trial, while he walked Lesalia's streets, he had received stares and heard whispers from the commoners. When he walked among the halls of Lesalia Castle, he had received the same stares and heard the same whispers from the nobles. Some were even bold enough to laugh in his presence while others taunted him.

_"So, the mighty Oaks have been chopped down," _a knight had jeered. _"Who would have thought that the axe would be one of their own?" _

Agnes sighed, remembering the harsh truth behind that taunt, as he stood on the parapet of his keep, staring at the splendid capital before him. Countless were the times he had gazed at the city, always admiring the beauty of it from the top of his keep...

His keep.

The fear of losing his keep—the keep that had been in his family for a century and a half—to another when he dies had crossed his mind at one point, but that fear dispelled when he had received word that Ramia had been adopted by his good friend, Andrew Birch.

He smiled softly to himself, his hair wavering in the cool morning breeze. Though a tree is chopped down, as long as the roots are intact, it could grow tall and strong again. He would apply the same concept to his current situation. Although his granddaughter was officially a 'Birch', she still had the blood of an Oaks, and she would be that sprout that would make the tree grow again. He would make sure that a 'Birch' would inherit his keep.

The sun slowly rose to the sky, bathing the city in its golden glow.

Agnes watched merchants—fewer now since Prince Clemence's edicts—hauling their wares into the city from both the north and south gates. Not many traveled the roads of Ivalice nowadays. The sight of Shrine Knights—a blessing at first—was now considered to be a curse for they had higher authority than the common knights, such as Gallione's Hokuten or Zeltennia's Nanten. Even the personal knights of the royal family, such as he, had no bearing in Ivalice's government since there was officially no royal family.

Agnes snorted, thinking Prince Clemence to be a fool for following the Church blindly. Though Ivalice was under the Church's control, Lord Oaks would still continue to carry out his duty. And so, he stood watch on the parapet, alone yet vigilant.

This has been his routine for the past month. He watched Shrine Knights monitor the traffic in both gates, checking merchants entering and travelers exiting. Though Agnes detested Father Jaren, he commended the priest's persistence in his hunt for the heretics. But his persistence bordered on tyranny.

Only a month had passed since the edicts were issued and already some were grumbling, not from Ivalice but from the neighboring country of Ordallia. Ordallian merchants come to Ivalice to trade their wares across the marketplaces of Ivalice. They were much welcomed in Ivalice for their rare commodities such as silk and spices.

But to lose such commodities because of the new laws would risk instability within Ivalice, whose people were already regretting the Church's influence within the government.

Agnes wondered what Father Jaren would do about regaining the people's trust in the Church as he turned away from the parapet and entered his home. He had watched enough for the day. If he had watched a little longer, however, he would have seen a contingent of Shrine Knights exit Lesalia's northern gate and head towards his keep on the hill.

* * *

Tomas Varyn, Divine Knight of the Glabados Church and aide to 'Cardinal' Jaren Kazut, rode at the head of his party of five Shrine Knights and one heretic. It was his duty to deliver Lord Oaks' reward for being cooperative to the Church before bringing the prisoner to Fort Zeakden.

The two knights that rode behind Tomas carried a chest between them, the contents containing the reward of Lord Oaks. Beyond the two knights was another knight pulling the heretic along the path.

Agrias' hands were bound with a thick rope that was tethered to the pommel of the saddlebow of the knight before her. She was forced to walk the rough path, bare-footed, the pace set by the knight's chocobo, compelling her to run at times lest she risks being dragged along the rocky road. They were only a couple of miles out of Lesalia and already her feet were covered with minor abrasions from the gravel road. If she was dragged, not only her feet would suffer but also her whole body since the thin gray robe she now wore was not sufficient enough to protect her, no less it being ripped to shreds in the process.

But she won't let that happen. If she had to run two miles to keep up, she would to avoid being dragged and humiliated. She would show these knights she was no pushover despite Jaren's beliefs.

Behind her rode the last two knights acting as rear guard. Both carried banners of the Church, their emblem of a gold cross against a red background wavering slightly in the mid-morning breeze.

The group rode in silence down the road leading to the stone edifice that sat on the hill overlooking the capital. The only sounds that broke the stillness were the rhythmic clinking of metal armor and the beating of clawed feet against stony ground complemented by the sounds of nature, such as the whistling of birds and the buzzing of bees.

The short green grass swayed gently in the breeze like waves of an ocean. Wild flowers added color to the bland green grass, radiating their brilliance on such a sunny day. Bees and butterflies flitted around the blossoms seeking their sweet nectar as birds circled above seeking any bug or worm to devour. Such was the splendor of nature.

But Tomas and his party didn't have the time to admire the beauty of their surroundings. The Divine Knight then decided to pick up their pace seeing that it was past mid-morning and heading towards noon. They need to reach Grog Hill before sunset if they were to deliver the prisoner as scheduled.

He urged his chocobo from a stroll to a trot, quickening their pace a bit. The rest of the knights followed his example, trotting at a moderate pace. Tomas tried to set an easy pace so the prisoner could follow without being dragged along the road. He had frowned upon Father Jaren's decision for the heretic to walk all the way to her plight, arguing that it would take twice as long to make the journey. But the priest ignored the argument, only stating that the prisoner will be delivered on time. Thinking about the prisoner, Tomas looked back to see if she was handling the pace well.

Agrias jogged behind the knight and his chocobo, almost matching their pace. Her face show no weariness, only a fierce determination, her lips pursed close and her blue eyes glaring. To her, this was like a casual stroll through Mandalia Plains since she was used to running in her heavy armor.

Nodding his approval, Tomas turned back as he continued to lead his group to their first destination of the day.

* * *

Lord Oaks roamed the halls of his small keep, trying to pass the time away. But it was hard for him being the only resident, besides his servants, of the stone bastion. The two knight maidens, Lavian and Alicia, who had been personal knights of his daughter, had seemed to flee the keep after seeing their lady tried. Agnes could not blame them, being the loyal servants that they were, they too were hunted heretics by the Church. He sighed as he stopped at a certain window in the foyer of his home and looked out.

He couldn't see Lesalia from the window because the hill's curve hid it from view, but he could see the beautiful green field spread before him and a portion of the path leading towards his home. It was another beautiful day with clear skies and cool breezes.

Agnes sighed again, remembering why he had chosen to look through this particular window instead of the many others that lined the entrance hall. Because it was through this window that he shared many memories with his granddaughter.

Every afternoon, when the sun begins to set, shading the horizon a fiery orange, he would carry Ramia in his arms to the window, not only to watch the sunset but to also watch for the return of Agrias from her duties in Lesalia. His eyes roamed towards the road where they had always caught a glimpse of the returning knight; the yellow plumed head of her chocobo appearing at the bend followed by the flashing of her armor indicating them that she was home. Agnes would then place Ramia on the floor and the child would dart for the doors eagerly to greet her mother while he would follow slowly from behind.

Lord Oaks shut his eyes as the memory of those past afternoons flooded his mind. He could almost hear Ramia's cry of joy echoing throughout the foyer as she ran to the doors, the clanking of armor as Agrias enters the keep, and the warm exchanges they gave each other. He heaved a sigh, opening his eyes to again gaze out the window.

Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, making that memory into reality, as he looked through the window. A yellow-feathered head had appeared at the bend, its rider's armor glinting in the sun's rays. Agnes' heart soared hoping that the past month was nothing but a nightmare and that he had finally awakened from it.

But his heart sank when he saw the identity of the rider.

A Divine Knight.

Two Shrine Knights carrying some sort of chest between them followed the knight. Agnes had enough dealings with the Church and wondered what business they brought now.

* * *

Tomas brought his chocobo to a halt and jumped down when he reached the front doors of the great keep. He gazed at the stone building, admiring its ancient beauty.

The bastion was two stories high and twice as long. Two green banners emblazoned with the insignia of the Oaks family—a silver wreath of oak leaves—hung on the fortified walls of the fortress. No one stood watch at the door or at the parapets. The only people that greeted them were the gardeners who watched curiously at the group. Tomas wondered how Lord Oaks could sleep at night, knowing that he may be found dead the next morning.

The Divine Knight then turned back to see his two knights standing attentively, waiting for his orders. "Come," he said, "let's get this over with."

Tomas marched towards the doors and pounded three times. His knocks seemed to echo throughout the forlorn citadel as the trio waited patiently.

After a few moments, a door squeaked open and out came a middle-aged man, well dressed with a slightly graying mustache and intense brown eyes. He studied the knights a moment before asking, "May I help you, sirs?"

"Yes," Tomas answered. "We're here to see the lord of this keep, Lord Agnes Oaks."

The servant opened the door wider. "Please enter," he said, motioning the trio to come in. "You could wait inside while I'll fetch the master."

Tomas shook his head. "Thank you for the offer, but we're in a bit of a hurry. We just came to drop off this chest," he stepped to the side and the two knights brought the chest and placed it down in front of the servant. "A gift from Father Jaren," the Divine Knight explained, "as a reward for Lord Oaks' cooperation and as a sign of goodwill from the Church. Would you make sure he receives it?"

"Indeed I will, sir knight," the servant nodded. "Good day to you."

Tomas nodded and turned on his heel to return to his chocobo. He swung astride the giant bird, the two following shortly after, and soon they were riding down the hill where the rest of the party awaited.

Tomas was relieved to get that one task done; more relieved that he hadn't face Lord Oaks himself. He was already burdened by the fact that he had to cart his daughter to Fort Zeakden, but more so by the fact of what the contents of the chest were. If he had stayed and had opened the chest in front of Lord Oaks...

He shook his head at the thought. It was best not to think of such matters.

* * *

Agnes watched the three knights ride down the hill. He had heard every word of the exchange between the Divine Knight and his servant. When the last of the knights had gone, he turned towards the door to see his servant dragging the chest in, its scraping echoing throughout the hall.

Lord Oaks went to help the man, bringing the chest to the middle of the entrance hall. The servant then went to shut the door as Agnes knelt down besides the chest, looking at it apprehensively.

It was like any ordinary chest, brown in color with a latch in the middle. His hand moved slowly to that very latch, anxious yet curious to find out what the chest contained. His servant returned and stood behind him, curious to discover the contents of the chest.

Agnes took a deep breath before he slowly undid the latch and lifted the lid. The items within the crate were slowly revealed to the two men. The noble reared back in shock while the servant gasped.

Inside was the equipment of the disloyal Holy Knight! From the helmet to the boots, everything was present.

Agnes' shock quickly became anger as he glared at the chest. What sort of reward was this to give back the heretic's equipment? Shouldn't they have burned it or at least discarded it? Wasn't it deemed 'unholy' or 'evil' to wear such items?

As Agnes pondered the reason on why they had given him the items, the servant went closer to take a good look at them. He was as shocked as his master was. What kind of trick was this to offend him? It was as if the Church was challenging his loyalty. He then took note of a rolled parchment amongst the equipment.

"My lord," he said as he took out the parchment and handed it to the fuming Agnes.

"Burn it," Agnes growled, assuming it to be a derisive letter.

"But it may explain why Father Jaren sent you this..." he paused as he tried to search for the right word, "...this," he decided with finality, waving at the crate. He then offered the letter to his lord, who grudgingly accepted.

Agnes saw that the letter was sealed in wax with the emblem of the Glabados Church stamped on it. He broke the seal and unrolled the parchment, scanning its contents before thoroughly reading it. The letter read:

_May the light of St. Ajora be with you, Lord Oaks._

_Please accept this chest as gratitude for your complete cooperation during the trial and for your unwavering loyalty. You must be wondering why I am rewarding you with such items. I assure you it is not to insult you, but to reward you. I deemed it a waste to discard such equipment of excellent quality. Don't worry. I have personally blessed them and so should serve you well if they are needed. May St. Ajora continue to shine his light upon you._

_St. Ajora's loyal servant,  
__Father Jaren Kazut_

The servant observed his master's expression and when Agnes lowered the letter, he boldly asked, "What does the letter say, Lord Oaks?"

Agnes snorted as he rolled up the parchment and threw it back into the chest. "A reward!" he growled angrily as he slammed the chest shut. "More like a reminder than a reward! A reminder of the betrayal in our family!" He then turned and stomped away, disgusted at the sight of the chest.

"What should I do with the chest, my lord?" the servant questioned loudly.

"Place it in a dark corner of the vault, far from anyone's prying eyes," Agnes replied gruffly, "and a curse to those who finds it..."

* * *

Yardow Fort City.

Though a small city, it is as well protected as nearby Riovanes Castle. Thick castle walls surround the city with wooden watchtowers erected in intervals along the ramparts. No one was sure why those walls were built to protect such a small community, but according to historical records dating back ten centuries prior, they were built to protect against invasion from the other kingdoms when Ivalice was still separated into seven.

Walls that were meant to keep the people from harm now seemed to keep the people imprisoned within the town. The only two gates, west and east, were wide enough to only fit one person at a time. And if you're traveling in a group, you enter in a single line, making traffic into and out of the city very busy. However, it was easy on the Shrine Knights to monitor the gates, inspecting every person that came through. Which also made leaving the city difficult for two fugitives of the Church.

One of these fugitives strolled along Yardow's streets, plotting the town's layout and observing the routine of the Shrine Knights. Alicia knew that if she and Lavian were to escape the city undetected, they had to know when was their best time to move and how to maneuver through the streets. It was her job to plot it all out.

The knight maiden walked through the marketplace, located along the main street of Yardow that ran straight through the middle of town, browsing through the wares, at times pushing herself through the masses to get from one booth to another. Now, however, was the worst time to be in the marketplace.

The day neared its end as the sun set closer to the horizon, painting the sky a fiery orange and the clouds a pinkish-purplish hue. This was the busiest time of the day as merchants get ready to close their shops and the people return home from work. In Alicia's case, however, she needed to return home to get ready for her shift at the pub.

Both knight maidens had decided that one would work during the day while the other worked during the night. This way they wouldn't miss out on any important news, rumor or otherwise. And this worked very well for them because they had heard many reports concerning about the hunt for the heretics. None of the reports worried them much, however, and continued to work unafraid of being caught.

But that may soon change.

"A rider approaches!" a Shrine Knight on the watchtower shouted below to two knights at the gates.

Alicia stopped immediately when she heard that announcement. She turned back towards where she had come from and forced her way through the crowd that seemed to have multiplied. It looks like she wasn't the only one curious about the shout.

The knight maiden tried to force her way through the front of the crowd, but seeing that she made no progress, she looked for an alternate route. She turned into a dark alley, pausing briefly to see if anyone was around, before jumping onto the roof of a house in a single bound. She was glad that she took the time to perfect the jumping skills of a dragon knight while in Ramza's company all those years ago. It certainly has its uses.

Seeing that she had a good view of the events happening at the eastern gate, she perched on the edge of the house's chimney, intent on studying this unexpected event.

* * *

One of Tomas' Shrine Knights approached the eastern gate of Yardow, carrying the banner of the Church at his side. Once he passed through the gate, he halted his chocobo and dismounted. "I must speak with your commander," he informed the knights with urgency. "Where is he?"

Sensing that this was no ordinary message, one of the knights quickly escorted the rider to the garrison, located against the city wall near the gate, while another took the reins of his chocobo.

The barracks was a crude building, built with haste when Jaren's laws were put into effect, managing to only house ten knights. It was made of stone, dried mortar sticking out in between the bricks, a testament of the builders' haste. A wooden roof riddled with small cracks was the only protection the knights had from the elements.

The stables, next to the garrison, were as equally crude as the garrison for it too was hastily built. Instead of stone, it was made of wood held together by rusty nails. Some sections of the stable walls were made from more than one piece of wood, like some jigsaw puzzle. The structure itself looked as if it would topple down when a mighty wind blew, but it was as sturdy as a rock.

News of the rider's arrival traveled quickly for the commander of the garrison stood outside the building, ready to receive whatever message the rider has to give. "Welcome to Yardow Fort City," the commander greeted the messenger as they both grasped the other's forearm in the traditional handshake. "What news from the capital?"

"Other than Father Jaren's ill humor, I bear no message from the capital," the rider replied. "However, I do bear a message from Divine Knight Tomas Varyn."

"Divine Knight Tomas Varyn?" the commander repeated curiously.

The messenger nodded. "Yes, the aide to—" He then stopped, sensing the many eyes that stared at him, and looked back at the crowd that had gathered. He didn't want the townspeople to hear what he had to say. "May we continue our talk inside?" he asked as he turned back to the commander.

"Yes, of course," the commander acquiesced as he motioned towards the door. The rider took off his helmet and entered the establishment. After giving his men quick instructions, the commander followed the rider.

* * *

Tomas pulled his hood over his eyes, shielding them from the glaring westering sun that blared at them. He was glad to see another day coming to an end. By the time the sun sets, they would be within Yardow's walls resting. The knight he had sent ahead to notify the commander in charge of Yardow's supervision of their imminent arrival must be already enjoying the luxuries of the garrison.

The Divine Knight sighed. It would be nice to sleep on a comfortable bed instead of the hard ground and to eat real food instead of dry rations. Tomas licked his lips. Some wine would be nice too.

After an hour of trotting down the road, the party could see the white walls of Yardow looming ahead, the sun setting behind it casting long shadows on the road. As they neared, Tomas could see that two Shrine Knights stood in attention on either side of the gate.

The party rode up to the gate and entered the walled city. Commander Troy Mynns stood at the entrance along with the rider, Chase Osner, ready to greet and welcome the group's arrival. It seems they weren't the only ones to greet their guests as folk gathered, curious to see a Divine Knight appearing at their small community.

Commander Troy stepped forward as Tomas dismounted his chocobo. "Welcome to Yardow Fort City, Divine Knight Tomas," he greeted. "Sir Chase has notified us of your coming." He then motioned towards the garrison. "There's food and wine ready and your quarters have been furnished as well. It would be an honor if you and your men would join us for dinner."

Tomas nodded in approval. "The honor is all ours," he said. "But," he beckoned the knight holding Agrias, "I'd like to see the heretic taken care of first. You have a place ready for her?"

"Yes, of course," Troy nodded. "This way."

Alicia watched as the group of knights headed towards the garrison. She silently jumped from one rooftop to the next to get a better glimpse of the group while folk below her met the group with curious stares.

The knight maiden then stopped at a house with a flat rooftop, a block down from the garrison, observing with disgust as they pushed the prisoner into a holding cell affixed to the side of the garrison building.

It was built to temporarily house any captured heretics until they were judged. It seems only fitting to place a captured heretic in it.

Their task done, the knights entered the garrison with hearty smiles, eager to end the day with a good meal and a comfortable bed. Up on a rooftop, a figure could be seen jumping down and vanishing beneath a twilight sky...

* * *

A half moon hung in the sky amidst the stars, bathing the sleeping city in silver light. Only a few wandered the streets; mostly drunkards who couldn't find their way home. Some were even passed out, sleeping to the side of buildings, snoring loudly and hugging their beer bottles to their chests. Somewhere, a dog barked answered by a hooting owl; chocobos warked softly as they slept in their stables, warm from the cold winds that blew outside.

But those cold winds managed to seep through the barred door of the heretic's cell.

Agrias shivered against those cold drafts as she curled into a fetal position on the floor, trying to keep warm. Her poor excuse of a blanket was only a tattered piece of cloth, unable to cover her quivering frame. Her teeth chattered against the chill as she tried to rub some feeling back into her arms. In these conditions, sleep eluded her.

Just as well for there came a knock on her door followed by a whispered voice, "Lady Agrias!"

Agrias immediately forgot her chill upon recognizing the voice. She wearily stood up, wincing as her bruised and blistered feet met floor, and slowly made her way to the door that suddenly burst open.

Lavian quickly entered the prison while Alicia kept guard at the door. Though the Shrine Knights on guard by the gates were fast asleep—thanks to Lavian's skills in the magical arts—one cannot be too sure how long the spell will last.

As Lavian entered, she saw that Agrias was already standing. "Lady Agrias," she greeted respectfully as she began to fall on one knee, a gesture made when addressing someone of higher ranking. It was a habit she and Alicia had formed while serving the Oaks family.

Before Lavian could complete the motion, however, Agrias had quickly walked over to her and pulled her up. She then began making brisk gestures with her hands while wearing an angry expression on her face.

Lavian was, at first, surprised being forced to stand, but soon became confused as she watched the hand gestures. Agrias first pointed to herself, then to her, then, in a downward sweep, to the ground before finishing her silent message with a shake of her head.

_What is she trying to say?_, Lavian wondered.

But wondered no more as Agrias looked at her with questioning eyes. Lavian understood what that simple expression conveyed and smiled. "Come with us, La—"

Agrias immediately covered Lavian's mouth, her questioning eyes flaring anger once more. She then repeated those same hand gestures, emphasizing each motion, but suddenly stopped, her body tensing, going into a defensive stance as if threatened.

Knowing the telltale signs of trouble, Lavian immediately became alert. She placed a hand on the hilt of her sword and quickly turned, drawing her sword in one single motion.

There, standing at the doorway was the commander grinning wickedly at them. Behind him were two knights keeping Alicia subdued.

"Well, well, well," the commander sneered as he entered the small holding. "Who would have thought that heretics Lavian Wayte and Alicia Lavitz were hiding in Yardow Fort City?" He paused briefly, looking at Lavian then at Alicia, before continuing. "I place you both under arrest in the name of Murond for the crime of heresy." He then extended his hand towards Lavian and said, "Now kindly give me your sword."

Lavian grinned viciously, brandishing her sword menacingly at the commander. "Why don't you come and get it yourself?" she challenged. With that said, she swung at the commander who nimbly jumped back despite of all his armor.

"That could be arranged," the commander returned, drawing his own blade, returning Lavian's swing with a thrust.

Lavian parried the thrust and countered with a slash, which the commander quickly blocked. Lavian's opponent suddenly ducked low and stuck out his foot, sweeping Lavian off her feet.

The knight maiden cried out as she fell on her back, the wind knocked out of her. She then looked up to see the commander standing over her, the point of his sword against her neck.

"You are under arrest for the crime of heresy," he repeated. He then stepped on Lavian's sword wrist, her grip on her sword loosening, and bent down to retrieve her weapon. However, he was tackled to the side by Agrias.

The commander grunted as he fell to the floor. Agrias then helped Lavian up and pushed her towards the door. As they exited the building, they saw that Alicia had managed to escape her captors and now was fighting them.

The sound of their swords clashing throughout the streets of Yardow must have been too loud for their came shouts of alarm from within the garrison. Lavian turned to see more knights emerge from the building, armed and carrying torches.

"There!" she heard one of them shout. She immediately went to Alicia's aid. They needed to defeat the two knights before the rest were upon them.

Fortunately, they managed to beat them before the rest of the knights came. Now all three were running towards the gates where their chocobos awaited them.

The knights gave chase seeing that the escapees were none other than the heretics. "Don't let them get away!" the commander ordered his men when he managed to get out of the cell. "Catch them at all costs!"

"What's going on here, Commander?"

Commander Troy turned to see Tomas walking towards him, holding his sheathed sword in one hand. Troy bowed his head slightly in recognition of Tomas' rank before replying, "The heretics Lavian Wayte and Alicia Lavitz were sighted trying to help the prisoner escape. My men are chasing them as we speak."

"Which way did they go?" Tomas questioned.

"They're heading east, towards Lesalia—" Troy began.

"—or Bervenia," the Divine Knight finished thoughtfully then nodded as if to assure himself. "Spare as many of your men as you can, Troy," he instructed. "Send a messenger each to Lesalia and Bervenia to inform them of the heretics' arrival though I doubt that they're that dim-witted to enter. If possible, we can trap them at Doguola Pass or Grog Hill."

Troy nodded. "A perfect plan, sir. I'll carry out your instructions at once!"

Tomas nodded and the commander left. The Divine Knight then watched as two knights came back dragging a body between them. Tomas was at first pleased to find that the Shrine Knights managed to capture one of the heretics, but frowned when he saw that it was none other than an unconscious Agrias.

"Where are the other two?" he demanded as they dragged the prisoner into the cell and locked the door.

"Last time I checked, they were still running," one of the knights replied.

"Then...?" Tomas let the question speak for itself as he gazed at the barred door.

"She tripped and fell while escaping," the other knight answered this time. "The other two would have gone back for her if she hadn't motioned them to continue without her. She then attacked us, seemingly to slow our pursuit of the other two while they escape. A noble act, but a foolish one."

"Noble indeed," Tomas murmured to himself as he turned away. "That will be all," he said behind his back before returning to the garrison.

* * *

The sky was a steely gray with pale dawn light; the stars beginning to dim and the moon vanishing for the day. Birds wheeled overhead, intent on catching their early meal. The people of Yardow were still fast asleep, tucked beneath their warm blankets for it was too early to awaken.

Tomas prepared for the day's journey as he pulled on his gloves, strapped on his sword, and pulled the hood of his blue cloak over his crown full of short brown hair. Seeing that everything was set, he exited the garrison.

A cool wind blew as he stepped out of the garrison, his cloak rustling in its wake. A knight straightened in attention as he appeared, holding the Divine Knight's chocobo's reins in one gloved hand. Commander Troy stood next to the knight. "Good morning, Sir Tomas," he greeted.

Tomas returned the greeting. "I trust you have everything under control?" he asked afterwards and Troy nodded. "Good," the Divine Knight said. "Then it's time to depart before the citizens of Yardow awaken."

"Yes, of course," Troy nodded, knowing that Sir Tomas wanted to avoid a crowd as he escorted the prisoner out of Yardow. "Fetch the prisoner!" he ordered the knight holding the reins.

Tomas took the reins from the knight and mounted his chocobo. He then watched as Agrias was escorted from her cell, her wrists bound and her head downhung. Seeing this, he wondered if she had suffered any injuries during the skirmish last night.

"Are you sure you can manage this alone?" Commander Troy asked tentatively as the Divine Knight bound the prisoner's tether to the pommel of his saddle. With his whole garrison chasing after the knight maidens, Tomas felt it wise that he leave his band of knights in care of Yardow.

"She's only one prisoner," Tomas replied. "You have nothing to worry, Commander Troy. I am capable of handling this alone."

"As you wish," Troy said bowing his head. "I pray for your safe journey."

Tomas nodded then, with a click of the tongue, urged his chocobo slowly onward.

Agrias' body responded automatically, her body moving of its own accord while her mind wandered. She hoped that Lavian and Alicia had managed to escape their pursuers unlike her. It seems she was destined to this fate. She sighed as she continued to walk on her way to Fort Zeakden...

...on her way of suffering.


	4. Fading Memories

**Chapter Three: Fading Memories**

Limberry Castle.

Home to the late Marquis Elmdor, the castle stands on the pristine waters of Lake Diara. Also known as the "Castle of Chalk", its white walls shone brightly under a clear sky despite the many scars of the Fifty Year War and the Lion War seen throughout. A bridge of stone that ran from the shores of the lake to the gate of the castle was one path to take to reach the citadel, the other being by boat.

Surrounded by water, it was only natural for Limberrians to learn its ways. They were skilled sailors, setting foot on a boat as soon as they could walk. Later during their childhood, males would be taught how to work the sails and cast the nets while females were taught how to weave nets and mend them. When they had reached the early ages of adolescence, they were given a choice: to continue the ways of the lake or to carve their own path by learning new skills.

Only a small percent of Limberrian youths would pursue other ways of living while the rest would carry on the tradition of sailing.

And fishing.

The waters of Lake Diara bless Limberry with its supply of fish, the main staple of the dukedom. The people relied on the lake for their livelihood. They also relied on the shores of the lake to provide them with food. The marshy lands surrounding the lake were ideal for growing rice, the staple of Limberrian diet.

Limberrians tend to live a quiet and peaceful life in harmony with the land and waters. They are a friendly people who welcome travelers that often visit Limberry to admire its beautiful landscape and clean waters from the deck of one of the many sailing vessels that drifted on the lake. Travelers would marvel at the fishermen casting their nets into the waters or those picking rice on the shores, their pointed straw hats shielding them from the sun as they bent down to pick the harvest. It was as if they came to a whole new land apart from Ivalice.

But it was a strange new land to a little girl born at the capital.

The beauty of the land did not impress Ramia when she had arrived from Lesalia about a month ago. She completely ignored her surroundings, choosing to be withdrawn from the world.

Andrew knew the hardship his adopted daughter went through as she adjusted to her new home. He watched her now from the rail of his personal ship as she ran around deck giggling.

Lord Birch smiled at her carefree nature, but it puzzled him. He knew that Agrias, as a child, was quiet and serious. Ramia may look like her mother with her wavy golden hair shining brightly under the clear sky and her smiling face, but that's where the similarities end. The difference began with her eyes, which were not the blue of her mother's, but the hazel of, supposedly, her father's. And he supposed her carefree nature was also a testament of her father's heritage.

He frowned as he pondered the mystery of Ramia's true father. Was he a noble? A knight? A mercenary?

Andrew's frown grew deeper, angry with himself with the inability to solve this mystery. He heard from Agnes that Agrias used to tell stories about the father to Ramia. The only clues that he could gather when he listened were that he was skilled with the sword and had fought in the Lion War.

_But that could be anybody_, Lord Birch thought.

If he could, he would ask Ramia about those stories, but he couldn't. To do so would invoke the memories of her old life in Lesalia, which must be repressed at all costs. He sighed as he shifted his brown-eyed gaze from his daughter to the lake.

A cool wind blew gently, filling the sails, propelling the vessel slowly through the waters. Andrew's thick mane of dark brown hair that was tied into a ponytail fluttered listlessly. His attire of a red tunic, white pants with the ends tucked in black boots, and a green sash going over his left shoulder rustled softly against his lean body. He leaned against the rail, watching as a nearby fishing vessel cast its net into the lake.

"You seem preoccupied, husband," a sweet voice broke into his thoughts.

Andrew blinked and turned to see his wife standing near him.

Lady Celinda Birch was brimming with radiance, the sun glistening on hair that shone like soft fire flowing down the length of her back up to her slim waist, emphasizing the soft curves of her body beneath an outfit of a dark blue long-sleeved dress that flowed down to her ankles.

Lord Birch smiled at her, moving closer to place an arm around her shoulders. "I was just thinking," he said softly.

"About what?" the lady asked as she snuggled close in his embrace, placing her head against his chest. They watched as the same nearby fishing vessel pulled its net from Diara to come up empty.

"Ramia," Andrew sighed a reply as he turned to see their daughter on the other side of the boat, enrapt at the sight of the fishing nets that came up full. His wife followed his gaze and smiled softly.

Both lord and lady remembered the trials they went through to make the child adapt to her new home. It had taken a couple of weeks since her arrival for her to adjust. The lord had nearly given up on the girl during her first few weeks in Limberry.

The first few weeks were the hardest. Ramia had always cried herself to sleep, always calling out for her mother or grandfather. There were times too that she would call out for the two knight maidens that had served her mother. And, at rare times, she would call out for the father she never knew.

After a week, the child's grief turned into anger.

She had begun to throw things around the castle. The sound of breaking antique vases and crashing windows reverberated throughout the castle followed by her screams demanding to return home. Servants who attended her would end up with bite marks or bruised limbs.

Andrew had nearly lost his temper—a rare event for he was a calm and calculating man—if it weren't for his wife's advice. She had advised her husband to let the child vent out her emotions. It was better than keeping those feelings bottled inside. He had reluctantly agreed to her advice and was later glad to have listened.

After those first couple of weeks, Ramia had calmed down and, curiosity setting in, had decided to explore her new home. It was on one of her ventures through the castle that she met Galvin, their grandson.

Galvin was only two years older than Ramia. A bright young boy with short black hair and dark brown eyes, he quickly became friends with Ramia. They became inseparable, one not seen without the other.

And it was this friendship that made Ramia accept her new home.

"You do not have to worry about her," Celinda said reassuringly as they watched Galvin join Ramia at the rail. "If I'd known any better, she had forgotten about all that has happened."

"I pray that you're right," Andrew said solemnly.

* * *

It was early evening when the ship pulled into Limberry Castle's port. Sailors furled the sails as the gangplank was lowered to the stone pier where an armored man stood awaiting for the passengers to disembark.

"Papa!" Galvin cried happily as he ran down the plank towards the armored man. He was followed by Ramia, who yelled, "Alex!"

The man smiled as he knelt on one knee and opened his arms, welcoming the children into his embrace. "So, how was your little cruise?" he asked them fondly afterwards.

"We saw the fish the fishermen caught!" Galvin exclaimed excitedly.

"Yeah! Lots of fish! Plenty to eat!" Ramia added with as much enthusiasm, her hazel eyes twinkling.

"Really?" the man named Alex asked lightheartedly and the children nodded vigorously. "Then get ready for dinner because that's what we're having," he smiled.

"Okay!" both children exclaimed heartily. They hugged Alex once more before running off the pier into the main part of the castle, their giggling echoing in the vast cavern-like harbor.

Alex watched them go as he stood up. He then turned around when he heard footsteps approaching from behind.

Lord and Lady Birch walked down the gangplank, their arms linked, to meet the man on the wharf. "Rascals, the both of them," Andrew grinned as he and his wife approached Alex.

"But, quite endearing nonetheless," Celinda added with a smile of her own. "Don't you agree, Alex?"

"Of course, mother," Alex nodded as he smiled as well. "I find having a little sister quite pleasant though somewhat awkward for a man of my age."

Andrew laughed heartily at his son's remark. "You think I don't feel awkward, as well, having a daughter at my age? But what does it matter?" he shrugged. "A Birch is a Birch and she'll always be a part of the family."

"I couldn't agree with you more," Celinda concurred. "Now if you'll excuse me," she began as she let go of her husband's arm, "I'll get ready for dinner as well. Besides," she added looking at her husband directly, "I'm sure you're eager to hear your son's report."

She then lightly kissed Andrew on the cheek and said, "Don't be late," before leaving, following the children's previous route.

Both father and son watched her leave before turning to each other. "So, how are things at the castle? I hope you were able to take care of everything," Lord Birch began.

"Yes, everything is fine, father," Alex nodded, his orangey hair spilling over his shoulders.

They began walking down the pier and into the castle, continuing their conversation as they went. "Any news from the capital?" Andrew asked.

"None," his son replied pausing briefly as they began climbing a set of stairs into the main part of the castle before continuing. "It's been quiet for quite some time now."

"Yes," Andrew agreed softly, tapping his chin thoughtfully. He then shrugged and said, "As the old saying goes, no news is good news."

"But no news could also mean no progress," Alex countered.

Andrew chuckled lightly. "You're right," he smirked, "but it's not for us to worry about. As long as we carry on Prince Clemence's orders, or should I say Father Jaren's, we'll eventually find them."

Both men had finished climbing the stairs and were now standing in one of the many corridors of Limberry Castle. Servants passed by lighting the torches set into the walls as the sun's rays shining through the windows began to fade.

"I guess this is where we part," Lord Birch declared. "I don't want to keep your mother waiting and I'm sure you feel the same about your wife. I'll meet you in the dining hall and perhaps continue our discussion there."

"Very well, father," Alex acquiesced before walking down the hall. Andrew watched him leave before walking down the opposite direction.

* * *

Dinner was a simple affair marked by the calm atmosphere that enveloped the hall. If Lord Birch had been entertaining guests, the hall would have been filled with the sound of music coming from the minstrels' gallery that hung over the door and the babble of discussion. But since he was not, dinner was served as a small family gathering to talk of the day's events.

A long table backed with simple benches was prepared covered in white linen and two candelabras standing on both ends, their glow adding to the fire burning in the hearth at the side of the hall. Servants milled about placing platters of food from the nearby kitchen on the table, setting up the individual dishes and silverware, and opening the curtains of the large windows opposite the hearth to reveal the sun setting below the land to the west. Shortly after preparations were complete, a few servants stayed to attend the diners that would soon be arriving.

Lord and Lady Birch were the first to arrive followed by little Ramia happily skipping behind her parents. Being the head of the family, Andrew took his seat at the head of the table while Celinda took her seat at his left and Ramia besides her.

Andrew smiled as he inhaled the appetizing smells already drifting from the food. "That smells delicious!" he exclaimed. "I wish the others would hurry so we could partake this small feast."

Before long, Alex entered with his wife, Tiana, holding onto his arm. Their son, Galvin, followed from behind wearing a big grin across his face. "Well, look who finally arrived," Celinda remarked brightly as she watched her son lead his wife to her chair before taking his own seat at his father's right.

"Finally," Andrew said grinning at his son. "You certainly did take your time."

"Forgive me, father," Alex apologized. "I had to take care of some business."

As father and son exchanged pleasantries, Celinda couldn't help but think how alike her son was to his father. They could be mistaken for twins except for the fact that Alex's hair was taken from her and he preferred to wear it down instead of up like his father. Lady Birch was suddenly pulled from her thoughts as someone tugged the sleeve of her gown. She looked down to see that it was Ramia.

"Are we going to eat soon?" the little girl whined softly.

Celinda nodded. "Yes, of course, Ramia," she replied before turning to her husband. "I think it's time to say grace, dear," she expressed. "The children are getting impatient and I'm sure you were too."

"Oh, yes!" Andrew exclaimed suddenly remembering. He then stood up looking over his family and the food that they were prepared to eat. "Let us give thanks to God for the bounty He has placed upon us," he announced to those gathered in the hall.

With that said, everyone bowed their heads and closed their eyes in preparation for the grace Andrew was about to recite.

"God," he began, "we are gathered here once again to place your blessing upon us and upon the food we are about to partake. May it strengthen and nourish us, in this I pray by your Son, St. Ajora. Farlem."

"Farlem," everyone else echoed.

Lord Birch resumed his seat signaling to the servants to begin serving the meal. Some came bearing jugs of wine for the adults and cider for the children while others filled the nobles' plates of the various food adorning the table.

Their meal consisted of the fish caught in the lake, as Alex had told to the children. The white meat of the fish was grilled and covered lightly with spices. Bread was also served as well as rice slightly fried with cut vegetables mixed in it.

Conversation began as the dinner progressed, the day eventually turning into night.

"So how goes your embroidery, Tiana?" Celinda asked her daughter-in-law casually as she spread butter on her roll of bread.

Tiana, whose beauty rivaled Celinda's, maybe surpassing, as the older woman was much older in age. Raven hair bound by a silver fillet framed an oval face that could inspire a bard. Her dark brown eyes, at times firm, now sparked with interest as she daintily wiped her mouth on a linen cloth before replying to the lady's question.

"It's going well, my lady," she smiled. "I believe my first piece shall be done by the end of the week."

"That quick?" Celinda asked amazed and Tiana nodded. "I'm impressed!" the lady continued as she cut her fish. She then took a bite before resuming their conversation. "You must show me after you're done."

Tiana took a sip of her wine. "I'll make sure you'll be the first to see it," she agreed wholeheartedly.

"See what?" Alex suddenly inserted hoping to fully engage himself in their conversation.

"It's none of your concern," his mother replied as both women returned to their meals, "especially when it comes to women affairs. But if you must know, we were talking about your wife's embroidery. She said that she'd be done within the week. Now, how did your day go?" Celinda asked, intentionally changing the subject.

Happy to find the change of subject to one of his liking, Alex immediately replied, "Surprisingly well! I am pleased to announce that twenty men from our fair city have decided to join our ranks in the castle garrison. That is the biggest turnout we had since the war."

"That is good news," Andrew murmured in approval. "I assume their training will begin tomorrow?"

"Yes, father," Alex nodded.

Galvin, who was busy eating and listening to the conversation, suddenly became excited. "Can I come, papa?" he inquired enthusiastically, his eyes brightening at the prospect. "I want to see the knights!"

Alex stroked his neatly trimmed beard in thought, another trait he had inherited from his father. "I don't see why not," he finally answered after a moment's thought. "Though the men I'll be training will be ordinary foot soldiers, it will be somewhat the same when you'll start your knightly training."

"Which will begin next year, if I'm not mistaken," Tiana stated and Alex nodded.

"Can I come too?" Ramia questioned from her side of the table.

Celinda turned to regard her husband, his face showing the gravity of his daughter's request. Both parents had talked about this when the child had first arrived in Limberry. They had agreed to prohibit her from exploring the garrison grounds for want of invoking memories of her past.

Now a month had passed.

Has Ramia's memories faded away?

Lord Birch decided to find out. It was a big risk, but he needed to be sure. "Come, Ramia," he beckoned the girl to his side. "Don't worry," he added with a reassuring smile when he saw the look of fear on his daughter's face, "you're not in trouble. I just need to ask you one question."

The little child got out of her seat with the help of a servant and walked towards her father's side. Andrew picked her up and placed her upon his lap. "Why do you want to go with Galvin?" he asked gently. "I think it's much better for you to stay with your mother and Tiana. The garrison is no place for a young girl like you."

"But it's boring here!" Ramia pouted. "I don't want to stay in the castle! I want to see the knights too!" she glowered as she crossed her arms.

Andrew looked questioningly at his wife who merely shrugged as if to say the decision is his to make. He sighed as he thought on what to do. Ramia was so adamant on seeing the knights, that fact made certain from her fuming features. What was he to do?

"Perhaps you and Galvin will not be the only one visiting the garrison," he stated slowly as he turned to look at his son, coming to a decision. He then turned back to look at Ramia and smiled saying, "Ramia and I will go as well."

* * *

"Go in peace to love and serve St. Ajora. Farlem."

"Farlem."

The priest, a young man in his mid-twenties, then turned towards the altar where a figurine of St. Ajora rested and bowed towards it. He then turned towards the congregation, which included the Birch family and a few servants, and walked down the aisle between the pews to leave the chapel. Servants followed the priest's example, bowing towards the altar before leaving to attend to their numerous duties.

The Birches bowed as well before leaving the chapel as a whole. "I must head towards the garrison to prepare for today's training," Alex declared to his family.

"Will you not break your fast first?" Tiana asked.

Her husband shook his head. "I shall wait for the midday meal. Too much time has passed already." He then turned to his father and asked, "Since you are bringing Ramia to the garrison, would you also bring Galvin too, father?"

"Of course," Andrew replied. "I'll be delighted."

"Thank you," his son returned gratefully. He then turned back towards his wife and gave her a quick hug before placing his helmet on his head as he turned for the garrison, his red and green cape billowing about him.

Soon after, the two ladies left to perform their individual duties, leaving Andrew with the two children. Lord Birch took the children to the dining hall to get a quick meal before heading out to the castle garrison.

* * *

The castle garrison was located in a spacious area towards the back of the castle. Within lay barracks and stables, armories, a hospital, granaries and storehouses, and a school.

Alex knew the place well as he walked through the area unhindered by the sights, sounds, or smells for he had grown quite accustomed to them. He heard the wark of a young chocobo as he passed by the stableyard where grooms were trying to calm it as they got the giant bird ready for its training that would one day equip the animal for war.

As he neared the smithy, he smelled smoke from the fires and saw the line of new recruits standing in front of the shop to receive their practice equipment. Alex observed each of the recruits' faces as they received their gear.

Most of them were very young, he noted, guessing that some have not gone pass the age of twenty. Possessing the characteristic brashness of young men, they were eager to become soldiers of Limberry, to be among the respected for being a soldier in service of Limberry was an honor and a privilege. Alex had no doubt that they dream of glory and the wealth that comes with it.

He once was like them, brash and foolish. It was during the latter years of the Fifty Year War. He was eager to serve his countrymen in the battlefield, but he was still in training. Fortunately, he was able to complete his training and was placed under his father's command.

His father had commanded him to stay behind and guard the command post while they went into battle against the Ordallians. He was infuriated to find himself on guard duty. How could he prove his valor in battle if he were stuck guarding the camp?

Being brash was dangerous as he soon found out. He had left his post, disobeying his father's order, and had joined the knights on the battlefield.

And was nearly killed.

Alex sighed as his mind came back to the present. Fortunately, these soldiers would not be facing any battles soon. Seeing that the final person in line received their equipment, he approached the recruits who were lined up in a disorderly fashion. He watched them closely, observing their faces, imprinting them in his mind. The first thing he always took note of was their attitude.

Impudence.

He could not have such men in his army. He needed to teach them how to use their heads, how to think, before they could train in weaponry. What good is a weapon if a person does not know how to wield it properly and efficiently?

That was the first step in their training.

Ready to begin their first training session, Alex stepped towards the group. As if noticing him for the first time, the group grew silent. They stood straight in attention as he walked down the line.

"For all who do not know me," he began, "I am Alex Birch, but you will refer to me as Sir Birch. I am in charge of this garrison and I am also in charge of your training. I see you as incompetent soldiers and will treat you as such. By the end of your training, you will be masters of the art of combat and will be competent enough to know what to do shall a battle arise. Are there any questions before I continue?"

Alex watched as they shook their heads. "Good," he nodded, "because I have one. How many of you know how to read and write?" A quarter of the group raised their hands, which surprised Sir Birch. He had expected to see only a couple of hands raised, but was glad to see more. It would certainly make the training more tolerable.

"Very good," Alex said pleased. "You five shall proceed into weapons training. The rest of you will learn how to read and write."

There came some grumbling from the group. A young man with unruly brown hair boldly stepped forward. "Why should we learn how to read?" he demanded angrily. "We came here to be soldiers, not scholars!"

Alex turned to regard the young man with a keen eye. "What's your name?" he questioned him calmly.

"Jon," responded the young man.

"Can you spell that for me?" Alex continued. "If you can spell it, then you can proceed ahead as well." He received his answer when the young man glowered, grudgingly stepping back in line.

"I see that my point has been proven," Sir Birch stated. "If you find my methods a bit unorthodox, then you can leave. No one is forcing you to become a soldier. But know this, I will not have illiterate soldiers in my army. Any more questions or complaints?" He looked pointedly at Jon who continued to glower. After a brief moment of silence, he continued.

"Very well. Your lessons shall take place in that building there," he pointed to a small rectangular building near the gate to the castle keep. "It's called a school. I expect you to read and write by the end of the month. This is the first and utmost step. If you are unable to complete this session, then you can pack up your things and go home. Is that understood?"

The group angrily uttered their assent.

"Good!" Alex gestured towards the school. "Dismissed!" He watched them leave as they carried their gear, muttering angrily under their breaths. When they left, Alex turned to the five remaining recruits.

"Do any of you know how to use any type of weapon?" he questioned them.

"I know how to use a lance," one replied.

"And I know how to use a bow," another added.

Alex nodded in approval then turned to the other three that hadn't replied. "I assume you don't know how to use a weapon," he stated rather than asked.

"Actually, Sir Birch," one of them inserted a bit anxiously, "we three know how to use daggers and rods, small weapons of that sort."

"Daggers and rods..." Alex repeated thoughtfully then broke into a wide smile. "Excellent!" he exclaimed. "You three are perfect candidates to be trained as chemists, which are in short supply around here. But I'm not the one in charge of training chemists. This changes everything."

He then paused as he thought on what to do. Chemists were not of the warrior class he was used to training. The person in charge of that department was the Court Magician, Bernard Morr, but he was a grumpy old man who has no patience with training new students.

"I wish I had known this sooner," he murmured as he stroked his beard. "I need to talk to Bernard to arrange your training, but for now you'll be under my tutelage for the day. Tomorrow, perhaps, you will begin your training as chemists."

He then turned away, signaling to the others that the conversation was over. "Follow me," he told his students. "We have a long day ahead of us."

* * *

Andrew carried Ramia on one arm as Galvin walked besides him, excitedly talking about what they were to see. They headed towards the armory where knights and soldiers perfected their weapon skills against each other or against practice dummies.

As they traversed the flagstones of the great hall that housed the council chambers and their family, they were constantly greeted by servants and soldiers, which Lord Birch kindly returned. When they had finally left the great hall, they crossed the grass towards the armory next to the blacksmith.

Galvin ran ahead of the group eagerly, knowing full well that the armory was where the knights trained. Andrew chuckled lightheartedly. "Galvin, slow down!" he yelled after him, but the boy didn't listen as he disappeared into the structure.

"Papa, where did Galvin go?" Ramia asked curiously. Her surroundings were not new to her for she had crossed it many times during her trips to the town proper. It was the fact that she was forbidden to enter any of the buildings.

"The armory," Andrew replied, "where your brother trains the new recruits and where the knights practice their swordsmanship. Perhaps after we take a look at the new soldiers, I'll show you around the place. Would you like that?"

"Yeah!" Ramia nodded vigorously.

Lord Birch smiled, admiring the innocence and curiosity that young children possess. They finally entered the armory and were greeted with the many weapons that were stored in the first room. Swords hung on the walls, spears stood in bundles at the corners, shields were scattered around the place, and suits of armor were fastened to wooden posts.

Andrew observed closely at Ramia's reaction to the sight of such equipment. If he detect the faintest hint of recognition, he would immediately bring her back to the great hall. Fortunately, all he could see was the wonderment present in all children when they gaze at something new for the first time. He sighed in relief before entering the second room just across the first.

In the high-ceilinged room, they found Galvin standing close to his father who watched the five trainees swing their lances in slow, awkward arcs. Alex then turned when he saw his father and Ramia approach.

"I thought there were more than five recruits," Andrew stated as a greeting to his son.

"Yes, there are but they're learning how to read and write first," Alex nodded reverting his gaze back to the group. "Again!" he ordered when they were done with their swinging. "And faster this time!"

The family watched as the students swung their spears once more. "Ever the taskmaster," Andrew murmured.

"I learned from the best," Alex returned with a smile which became a laugh when he saw his little sister yawn. "I think Ramia is getting bored with this idle talk," he informed his father. "Perhaps you should take her to the next room. Some of the knights there are training really hard."

At the mention of knights, Ramia perked up, her eyes gleaming. "Let's go papa!" she shouted enthusiastically.

"All right, all right!" Andrew laughed. "We're going!" He then took a few steps towards the next room but paused. "Coming, Galvin?" he asked his grandson. "I'm sure you want to watch the knights duel instead of these new recruits hurting themselves with a wrong swing."

Galvin looked a little unsure. He looked up at his father, hoping to get an answer from him. "If that's what you want, Galvin," Alex said, "you can go."

"All right!" Galvin exclaimed before running off again ahead of Andrew and Ramia.

"Children," Andrew sighed as he followed his grandson's example.

When they entered the third room, they were assaulted by the sounds of clanging swords and shouting men. They were clothed in toughened and padded leather instead of full battle harness as they swung their swords around. Practice dummies lined one wall, straw and leather littering at their feet from when they were practiced upon.

Now they stood silently as the knights decided to duel with one another. Two knights stood in the middle of the room while the rest stood to the sides forming a ring about them. They circled each other, their bucklers raised before them in defense, their swords held to the side, looking for any opening to make an effective attack.

Suddenly, one shouted as he charged his opponent. He swung his sword and his opponent swung his sword in return. Blade clashed on blade, their ringing echoing around the room. The knights that were watching shouted at the men as if this were some sort of tournament.

Unlike the knights, however, the three visitors to the room watched in silence. Again Lord Birch observed Ramia for any signs of recollection. He expected to see the traces of awe characteristic of a curious child, but he was taken aback by the seriousness he saw in her eyes.

There was no wonderment neither any merriment as Galvin was showing with his gleaming eyes and wide smile. The expression he saw reminded him of the young Agrias, stern and quiet, a complete mirror image.

Thinking this to be some sort of memory relapse, he called to her. "Ramia, is anything wrong?"

The child turned to look at her father. "Shh," she whispered placing a finger on her father's lips in a gesture of silence, "I'm watching." She then turned her gaze back at the dueling men.

Andrew, too, reverted his gaze back at the knights as he wondered about Ramia's sudden change in behavior. The tone she had spoken him with was not of her usual cheerfulness, but of a grave girl that he never thought possible in a girl her age. His thoughts were then interrupted by Ramia's whispered voice: "Papa, can I be a knight too? I'll work really hard."

Lord Birch was a bit surprised by the request and a serious one at that. He placed her down on the ground, kneeling to her height afterwards as he placed a kindly hand on her shoulder. "Tell me, Ramia, why you ask such a thing?" he asked gently, curiously.

"Because..." the little girl began slowly. "Because Galvin is going to be one and I don't want to be alone in the castle!" she exclaimed hastily afterwards.

Andrew heaved a sigh of relief upon hearing his daughter's answer. He thought that she had wanted to become a knight because of some memory that she recollected. But that thought changed when he heard Ramia add, "And because of my dreams."

"Dreams?" her father repeated slightly alarmed and Ramia nodded. "What do you see in these dreams, Ramia?" he inquired in a grave tone.

Her face scrunched up in concentration as she tried to remember. "A garden," she began slowly as the images appeared in her mind, "filled with shrubs and flowers. A lady is there swinging a sword like the men Alex is watching."

Andrew nodded knowing well that she was referring to the drills. But he was troubled when Ramia referred to this person as a 'lady'. Was it who he think it was? Or was it a figment of his daughter's imagination or the last traces of a fading memory? He needed to know before he could give a definite answer to her question.

"Who is this lady, Ramia?" he continued to question her.

The little girl shrugged. "I don't know but after she practices, she would call me and we would walk through the garden. She would tell me things like how a knight is loyal and just and how a knight follows a code of honor. She also told me that I would be a knight someday like her and I believe her, papa. I want to be a knight just like her, just like you, just like Alex. So, can I?"

Lord Birch did not notice the request as he mulled over the details of Ramia's dreams. _A garden_, he thought, _and a lady... It could be none other than her._ _That would explain the garden and her calling out to Ramia._

During his visits to his old friend Agnes, he remembered seeing a garden just like the one Ramia described and being told that Agrias practiced her skills there in the midst of it. He never witnessed those drill sessions, but Ramia's words confirmed it. But the little girl did not know who the person was in her dreams which strengthens his belief that Ramia's memories were slowly fading away, becoming dreams and nothing more.

"Papa?" Ramia called uncertainly, breaking into Andrew's thoughts. "Papa, are you okay?"

Andrew blinked as he tried to set his mind back into the present. "I'm alright, Ramia," he said then smiled as he suddenly picked her up and carried her in his arms once again. "So, you want to become a knight!" he exclaimed as both went back into watching the duel.

It was two different men now, both samurais by the way their swords looked and held with both hands.

"Yeah!" Ramia squealed in delight.

"So be it," Andrew nodded. "Wait three more years and you'll start your training. I know you'll become a fine knight."

_It's in your blood after all..._


	5. Search for Friends

**Chapter Four: Search for Friends**

Doguola Pass.

A gorge that runs through the crags and rocky hills of a mountain range that included Mount Randoria, which stood two thousand dorma high. The Church considered this particular place sacred.

It is believed that St. Ajora was transfigured by the 'light of God' proving his divinity to be the 'Son of God'.

The story goes that he had climbed Mount Randoria with three of his disciples. After a long climb to the mountaintop, St. Ajora went aside to pray. The disciples sat down to rest, but they soon fell asleep. When they awakened, they saw something strange and gloriously beautiful...

Alone with St. Ajora on the mountain, they see him transfigured. His face shone with the brightness of the sun, his clothes became dazzling white. Then, right before their eyes, a bright cloud descended upon the mountaintop and out of the cloud came the voice of God:

_"This is my beloved Son in whom I am pleased. Hear him out."_

The disciples were so afraid that they fell to the ground. But St. Ajora bent down and touched them and said: _"Do not be afraid."_

The next morning, as they walked down the mountain, St. Ajora warned his disciples not to tell of what they had witnessed. Being the loyal disciples that they were, they obeyed...

Whether the story was fact or a fabrication of the Church, no one really knows. But it was this story that claimed the mount holy. Priests trained and fasted on the very mountaintop they believed St. Ajora had transformed, hoping to attain the same transformation or to hear from God as the disciples had witnessed.

But as time passed, the mountain saw fewer and fewer priests until no priests came. The mountain became silent and the story forgotten...

Though priests do not climb Mount Randoria any longer, they still traverse the Pass that ran at its base as they had for the past centuries. Most traveled alone, unafraid of the hidden dangers the Pass presented.

There have been reports of falling rocks and cuar attacks. Thieves also hid among the rocks looking for innocent travelers to rob.

But the numerous knights now scouring the cliff face did not bother searching for such vagrants. They had more important individuals to find.

A figure lurked silently within the crags, watching as the knights began to light torches. The last of the day's light vanished and the glow of those torches dotted the rocky hills like a swarm of fireflies.

And were easy pickings for the figure.

Alicia drew her bow and aimed at the nearest knight who was having a hard time climbing over a particular ledge. She let go of the string, her aim true as she heard the knight grunt, in turn, losing his grip on the ledge and falling a few feet below, his scream echoing off the walls of the valley.

But where one fell, another seemed to take his place.

It had been like this for the past week. The two knight maidens had hid in caves and when a group of knights came too close, they would defeat a few of them before moving to another part of the Pass.

But that was when the knights were only a few.

When word had reached Lesalia and Bervenia, however, they realized their peril and were now trapped with no hope for escape. Knights had come in swarms and mercenaries too, hoping to get some of the bounty money placed upon their heads.

The mercenaries possess the immediate threat to the two knight maidens. They were more experienced in the search than their armored counterparts and were better equipped for such a task.

The redhead knight maiden nimbly jumped from ledge to ledge to find another spot where she can attack unsuspectingly at her pursuers. She needed to keep moving, to keep confusing her hunters. It was the only way they could survive until they could find a way to escape Doguola Pass.

Her job would have been easier if Lavian was still with her. As Alicia jumped to the next ridge, she threw three shurikens below where two knights and a mercenary stood. Then, as she landed on the ridge, she fired another arrow at a mercenary across from her before disappearing into the crags once more.

She gasped from the exertion of evading and attacking. Needing some time to rest from her endeavor, she searched for a spot that would hide her from her enemies. Fortunately, she stumbled unto the perfect hiding place.

There was a niche within the rock wall just big enough for her to fit through. She gathered some nearby brambles to use as covering of the niche before squeezing herself through the crack. After shifting to a comfortable position, Alicia took advantage of her respite to reflect on the events of the past week.

She and Lavian were doing well evading the search party that came after them from Yardow. They outran, outwitted, and outfought them, dwindling their numbers to a few. But everything changed when more knights started to appear, supplied by Lesalia and nearby Bervenia. There were enough to overpower them but somehow, they were able to repel them.

But then came the mercenaries and their methods of searching. Unlike the methodical search by the knights, mercenaries search randomly, unknowingly searching the same place more than once.

Mercenaries also worked individually. The Shrine Knights took orders from one commander while the soldiers of fortune took orders from no one other than themselves unless they were under some kind of contract. Most of the mercenaries in Doguola were under some sort of contract, working in companies and taking orders from their company leaders.

The first company to find the heretics would receive the reward unless the Shrine Knights found them first. That was enough motivation for them to search relentlessly.

Alicia held her breath as some of those mercenaries stood in front of her hiding spot, her eyes burning at the brightness of their torch.

"They could be anywhere!" one exclaimed in a harsh whisper. "_Strike_ from anywhere!"

That last statement could have been true if Alicia wasn't cramped in her hiding spot.

"Be on the lookout!" another warned as the group moved on, their light fading away, leaving Alicia in semi-darkness once more. "We don't want to lose any more members!"

Deeming the area to be safe, Alicia heaved a sigh of relief. That's the closest she's ever seen her pursuers except for the time a mercenary company had accidentally stumbled across their hidden cave.

It took the two knight maidens by surprise and, no doubt, would have been captured if their enemies were not as surprised as they were. That small window of time was all it took for the knight maidens to attack and escape. Fortunately, the company's number was not overwhelming and was easily overtaken by Lavian and Alicia with the help of their chocobo mounts.

But their fortune only lasted for so long. As the two knight maidens rode away, a mercenary managed to fire an arrow amidst the chaos. The bolt found its mark true, hitting Lavian at her side just below the ribs.

The brunette had nearly lost her seat on her chocobo if it weren't for Alicia's quick reflexes. And with her quick thinking, they lost their pursuers and managed to take refuge in another cave. This time, Alicia made sure that it was well hidden so that Lavian could have the chance to rest and heal...

...while she continuously kept their pursuers occupied.

Feeling that she had rested enough, Alicia cautiously emerged from her hiding place. She readied her bow as she looked around for a good place to ambush the hunters. Deciding on a course, she disappeared into the crags...

* * *

Lavian slept fitfully, her wound chafing her as she shifted positions. Her chocobo, which she was using as a pillow, warked softly, sensing her distress. The giant bird, worried for his rider, placed a wing over her shuddering form and used his power—a power inherent in all chocobos—Choco Cure.

A warm light emanated from his wing to Lavian's prone form, enveloping her in its glow. Soon after, the light faded and Lavian slept soundly.

Seeing that she was still, Lavian's chocobo relaxed, tucking his wing back besides him. He then turned his great head towards the entrance of the cave where two other of his fellows stood watch. He knew that one waited anxiously for Alicia's return while the other...

The other hoped.

Chocobos are loyal beasts, loyal to each other and loyal to their riders. So loyal, in fact, it is said that during battles, if their rider were killed, the chocobo would go wild as if seeking revenge for its rider's death. It is also said that if its rider were separated from its chocobo or if the rider were dead, the chocobo would not take another in its place. Thus, these chocobos became untreatable, their handlers choosing to let them go back into the wild.

But the other chocobo, whose owner is now in a cold place, chose to stay hoping to be reunited with his rider knowing that she was alive.

Lavian's chocobo then warked softly as he prepared to rest, tucking his head into a wing and closing his big eyes. They were safe.

At least for now.

* * *

Lavian awoke with a start. She scanned her surroundings as she grabbed her sword that was lying at her side and slowly unsheathed it. Something had awoken her.

Or someone.

She slowly sat up, wincing as she leaned against her chocobo. Suddenly, she realized that her chocobo had not responded to her movements. If danger was present, he would've been up and alert.

But he sat on the ground asleep.

"Fleet, wake up." Lavian nudged the giant bird hoping to get a response. All she received was a soft wark as the chocobo shifted his head within his wing.

Alarmed, Lavian looked at the other two chocobos by the entrance and was dismayed to find them also asleep. She then sensed the reason why they were asleep. She could feel the tingling of magic in the air.

They had been placed under a spell!

_Whoever had cast the spell is very clever_, the wounded knight maiden thought, clutching her injured side as she prepared to stand. She nearly cried out as she stood, pain lancing down her side. Breathing heavily from the effort, she leaned against the rock wall, her sword held lightly in one hand while the other continued to clutch her side.

Injured she may be, she wasn't going to get captured without a fight. She remained alert, her eyes scanning the surrounding area and her ears attuned to the slightest noise. Slowly she became aware of soft footsteps echoing eerily in the cave.

And they were heading towards her.

The knight maiden raised her sword, pain flaring anew with the movement, as she prepared to strike. As the footsteps grew closer, she caught something flashing within the darkness where moonlight met metal. Using that flash as her guide, she slowly swung her sword towards it.

She almost lost her grip on her sword when steel met with steel, her wound hampering her movements. It was a perfect opportunity for her enemy to attack as she recovered from their first encounter but surprisingly, they didn't. Instead, her enemy spoke:

"Is that any way to greet an old friend?"

Shocked, Lavian dropped her sword and cried.

* * *

Another man—a mercenary—gurgled in his own life's blood when Alicia's arrow pierced through his throat.

_One down, many more to go_, the elusive redhead sighed as she readied her bow only to find that she was out of bolts. Stifling another sigh, she slung her bow and took what remained of her shuriken supply. She was dismayed to find that she only had nine more left, enough to stop one of the smaller companies of mercenaries. And to add to her grim predicament, it began to rain.

_Wonderful_, she thought miserably as she resumed her hit-and-run tactic.

Fortunately, the rain slowed down her pursuers somewhat, giving her ample time to choose her last nine victims. Unfortunately, she realized too late the reason why her pursuers had slowed down when she slipped on a slick rock and fell...

...right into the midst of a contingent of knights.

The knights, at first, were surprised. However, they quickly overcame their surprise as they drew their swords and pointed them at Alicia. "I thought this rain was a curse, but it turned out to be a blessing from God," one knight remarked. "Not only did He bring us nourishment from the sky, He also brought us our quarry."

"Farlem to that," another agreed echoed by the others.

Alicia couldn't believe her luck! She was doing well until it began to rain. Now there was no chance of escaping with all those swords pointed at her. But she would rather die than be a slave for the Church.

Still on the ground, she watched as a knight came towards her, the circle of swords widening as the other knights moved back. "On your feet, heretic!" he demanded as he kicked her on the side. "You're under arrest!"

Alicia bore the blow, but still remained prone on the ground. "I said on your feet!" the knight repeated harshly as he pulled his foot back for another kick. This time, however, the redhead was ready.

As the foot came towards her, she grabbed it in both hands and pulled on it making the knight lose his balance and fall. Seeing that the falling knight distracted the others, she rolled back onto her feet and released her remaining shurikens.

Then all became chaos as the remaining knights, who were not struck by the throwing stars, gave chase as Alicia made her escape. Completely unarmed, she had no choice but to run. She turned back to see that they were right behind her, shouting, demanding her to halt in the name of the Church.

The knight maiden ignored their cries as she turned her face forward and stopped when she saw a company of mercenaries ahead of her. They had not noticed her but when they heard the shouting knights, they turned and recognized her straight away.

And began chasing her as well.

Alicia resumed her run, taking another course through the valley with both knights and mercenaries behind her back. She weaved around the rocks, sometimes slipping, but she continued on, determined not to get caught.

It seemed that the whole valley was at her back as more mercenaries and knights joined the chase. She ran blindly, turning at an outcropping, only to find herself surrounded by sheer walls. She began to climb but the surface was too smooth, unable to get a firm grip. Becoming desperate, she jumped, hoping to reach the top of the wall but it was well below her reach and she landed back where she started in dismay. She then gasped and looked back when she heard a shout:

"There she is! She's trapped!"

Her pursuers appeared at the mouth of the cul-de-sac. Seeing no other way out, Alicia decided to stay her ground. Having her back against the wall, she prepared to fight her way out, taking a battle stance as she clenched her fists.

"The first one to capture her receives the reward!" another proclaimed.

That declaration had a profound effect on the group as they all ran towards her, shoving each other regardless of their safety. All that matters was that reward. Mercenaries suddenly forgot about their contracts in their greed for the huge bounty. Shrine Knights forgot about their discipline in their hopes of receiving praise, and perhaps a promotion, from the Cardinal.

Alicia tensed up as she watched the tide of men rush forward, a human wave that would soon suck her into their depths. Her first adversary came wielding two mythril daggers. She dodged his wild slashes, preparing to launch a counterattack, her fist already glowing a light blue from the energy she was gathering.

"Burning anger rising... Burst!" she recited, her fist flaring brightly. She then finished her chant by shouting, "Wave Fist!" She released the stored energy in her fist at the dagger-wielder.

It was a direct hit, her enemy pushed back by the force of the blow, bowling those behind him. As they tried to untangle themselves, Alicia turned to see two knights approaching, one wielding a sword.

The knight swung his sword at the redhead, who simply stepped to the side and caught his sword arm in one hand and backhanded the other knight with the other. While that knight recoiled from the attack, she pulled the knight she held closer, bringing her knee to connect with his gut. She heard the knight grunt and felt his hold on his sword loosen.

The knight bent over as Alicia took his sword. She then kicked him in the face, knocking him down. Seeing that the heretic was armed, the knight that she had backhanded drew his own sword. He then engaged her in combat.

Alicia quickly unarmed him and sent him flat on his back with a punch to the jaw. She then grabbed his sword, which was conveniently standing point first in the ground, before charging into the fray, a pebble against a wave.

She hacked and slashed her way through the current of men, praying she wouldn't drown amidst them. After a while, however, her arms began to ache with the effort of swinging two swords. Fatigue soon set in and she felt herself sinking in that ocean of blood and steel. And no one was there to throw her a lifeline.

As she was about to sink to oblivion, there came a shout from atop the mountains: "Absorb power in the sky and strike! Lightning Stab!"

There was a brief flash before five lightning bolts came crashing down among the group. Their pained screams were heard, evidently shocked by the attack.

It took the rest of the group by surprise. "What was that?" Alicia heard one exclaim in fear.

"A Holy Knight!" someone panicked and the group became uneasy as they looked around for the said knight, forgetting their quarry in light of a greater threat.

The wave receded as mercenaries assembled back into their companies and knights moved according to the discipline of their training. A few fanned out, searching for the source of the disturbance while the rest still surrounded Alicia. But she took the opportunity to strike back, to at least float in that sea of armor and leather until rescue would come. She didn't get that chance, however, when she heard another voice shout:

"Sea fang, attack with water's power! Leviathan!"

Mercenaries and knights cried out in horror when they saw a giant sea serpent appear above their midst. Leviathan shrieked as cascades of water suddenly poured down the mountainside. Alicia watched as the surge of water went around her and swept the men away in its flow.

They screamed in terror as the water swept them away from the alley like a flowing river. Alicia was glad to see them go. She then looked up, hoping to see a glimpse of her rescuers, but saw none.

She did see a rope, however, hanging down the side of the cliff, inviting her to climb. "Hurry and climb!" a voice instructed her hastily from the top of the cliff.

Recognizing the voice, the knight maiden didn't have to be told twice as she dropped her swords and eagerly climbed up the rope to safety. When her hand gripped the edge of the cliff, she felt someone pull her to the top effortlessly as they said, "Up you go!"

"Thank you," Alicia sighed gratefully as she took a few deep breaths to calm her wildly beating heart. "That was a close one," she added relieved.

"You're telling me," the person who had helped Alicia up replied. "You're lucky that we came when we did."

Alicia turned towards the person and smiled as she said, "And for that, you have my thanks." She then studied the person a while and added, "It seems five years has not changed you, Beowulf."

Beowulf chuckled softly at the knight maiden's comment. The former Temple Knight looked quite the same, his handsome face not yet marred with age. His flaxen hair that was usually combed neatly, was now slightly disheveled and hanging limply, beads of water dripping effortlessly down the strands from the rain. Green eyes shone under the pale moonlight, glowing slightly with amusement.

"Nor you," Beowulf replied in kind. "Five years... Has it been that long?"

"Yes, it has," a deep voice suddenly inserted before Alicia could reply.

The redhead turned towards the voice and saw a figure emerge from the shadows. "I knew it!" she exclaimed when she recognized the brown-cloaked figure. "Count Orlandu!"

Cidolfas Orlandu, also known as "Thunder God Cid", nodded towards Alicia in greeting. "Well met, Alicia," he began with a hint of a smile. "Acts of bravery have become very uncommon in knights these days. It's good to see that you have not neglected your training."

"Lady Agrias taught us well," Alicia declared proudly.

"Indeed she has," the Holy Swordsman agreed solemnly then frowned when he added softly, "About her..." His voice trailed off, unable to put his thoughts into words.

"What?" Alicia asked apprehensively, her eyes filled with worry.

"We've heard," Beowulf supplied and the knight maiden turned towards him. "We've heard what has happened," he explained. "But I think it's best that we talk and catch up on news in a dry and warm place. We may catch a cold if we continue to stay in this rain."

"You're right," Orlandu acquiesced. "Lavian is also waiting for us along with the chocobos."

"Lavian!" Alicia exclaimed suddenly recalling her partner. "I almost forgot about her! Is she all right?"

"Don't worry," Beowulf grinned as he patted Alicia's shoulder comfortingly. "She's fine. She just needs some rest until her wound heals."

"We'll take you to her," Orlandu added. "Then we'll take you somewhere safe from any more pursuit." He then began to walk away. "Come along now," he called to them. "The night is not getting any younger."

Beowulf obediently followed the old knight. Alicia, however, stayed behind awhile, mulling over her sudden reunion with her friends.

She had believed that she would never see them again. After the defeat of Altima, they had gone their separate ways, resuming the lives they once knew or starting new ones. They did nothing to hide from the Church except for Ramza, who had disappeared along with his sister, Alma. They were safe.

Correction. They _had_ been safe.

Now that the Church were after their heads, Alicia wished that they had kept in touch with each other to see how they were doing. Seeing Orlandu and Beowulf alive, she had no doubt that the others were too.

The knight maiden gave a small smile as she looked down at the gorge she once was trapped in. There was hope that the others had escaped as she had. They would just have to find them.

With that thought in mind, the redhead followed where the two men had walked off.

* * *

Lavian rubbed her chocobo's neck as she patiently waited for the others. She and the three chocobos were under a huge ridge that provided them shelter from the rain that had begun to pour down incessantly.

Fleet warked happily, lifting his head to get a better rub. Lavian laughed, knowing what he wanted, answering to his motion by shifting the pattern of her rubbing. "You like that, don't you, Fleet?" she said and the chocobo warked in response.

The brunette smiled as she continued to give her chocobo her undivided attention that Fleet didn't mind as he continued to wark softly. Suddenly, his neck became rigid as he gazed towards a specific spot out in the darkness.

Lavian knew that the chocobo was warning her of danger. She turned about slowly and noticed that the other chocobos stood rigid, looking at the same exact spot as her giant bird.

She slowly reached for her sword as she yelled, "Who goes there?"

For a moment, Lavian could only hear the rain's endless drumming. Then a familiar voice shouted back: "It's us, Lavian! We've returned."

Recognizing the voice, the knight maiden withdrew her hand away from the hilt of her sword and stood watch as three figures emerged from the pouring rain.

Beowulf, Orlandu, and Alicia finally reached the safety of the ridge, soaking wet but, otherwise, unharmed. "It's good to see that you've returned safely," Lavian said. "You had no trouble avoiding the search party?"

"Actually," Orlandu began pausing as Alicia walked pass him towards her chocobo, "we dispatched them. There'll be no search parties, at least for awhile. But as Beowulf stated to Alicia, it's best that we talk of this in a friendlier environment. The Pass is no place for travelers to wander the night especially when it's raining like this."

"So where are we going?" Alicia queried as she mounted her chocobo.

"To our home," Beowulf replied, "at the summit of Mount Randoria. It's not too far from here."

"Then please, lead the way," Lavian requested as she too mounted her chocobo with the help of Orlandu.

The former Temple Knight nodded before walking ahead into the pouring rain once more. Lavian followed on her chocobo with Alicia by her side, who pulled Agrias' chocobo behind her. Orlandu brought up the rear, safe guarding his friends who had experienced quite an ordeal.

The group walked in silence, four sad individuals burdened with the forbidden truth. The heavens seemed to mourn them, the rain their tears. But within each individual's heart there burned hope, the hope that they would see their friends again and the hope for a peaceful Ivalice.

As they continued to climb the mountain path, the rain soon abated which caused some much-needed relief amongst the group. A couple hours later, they reached the summit.

* * *

It was dawn, the sky turning slightly grayish as the sun began to rise, when they saw the stone house that sat on a plateau at the end of the rise. It was a simple structure made from the stones of their surroundings, the roof thatched with a thick layer of grasses that one could find in the Pass, impervious to the rain that had passed. There was a hint of smoke rising from the chimney and the smell of bread was evident in the air.

Alicia took note of their refuge; temporary or permanent remains to be seen. She then saw a dark-blonde haired woman emerge from the small house and realized that it was Reis.

It seemed that, as Beowulf, Reis has not changed during the last five years. Her hair, which was straight and usually down, was now bound from a face that was now brimming with happiness as she held both arms to embrace Beowulf, who now approached with a wide smile on his face. He swept her into his arms, crushing her against his chest as she held him. Their exchange reminded Alicia of the time when Beowulf had reunited with Reis at Nelveska Temple.

Their embrace lasted until the rest of the group gathered around the couple. Alicia dismounted and Orlandu once again went to Lavian, who was having trouble getting down because of her injury.

Reis turned gray eyes towards her visitors. "Lavian, Alicia," she said with a smile, "it's good to see you again. Welcome to our home."

"Reis," Alicia began as she smiled as well, "it's good to see you too. I must thank you in advance for your hospitality."

Reis chuckled softly. "There is no need to thank me. I want you to consider this as your home now." She then stepped to the side of the portal. "Please enter. Breakfast will be served shortly. Beowulf will take care of your chocobos."

Alicia smiled her thanks to Reis as she entered the humble looking building. She was followed slowly by Lavian leaning heavily on Orlandu.

"Place her on one of the beds," Reis instructed the old knight as they entered. "There are probably some potions in one of the cabinets that you can use." She then turned to Beowulf and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before she too entered the house.

The former Temple Knight sighed as he watched the door close behind her. He then looked at the chocobos that were standing around, looking unsure of what just happened. "Hope you fellows don't mind standing there while I build a place for you to stay," he told them before leaving them to go find his tools.

* * *

The first thing Alicia noticed about the house when she first entered was the lack of furniture.

The interior of the home was quite spartan. The floor was no more than packed dirt. The windows were small with wooden shutters, which Reis went to open to let the morning sunlight brighten the home. There was a hearth at one end of the house where a small pot hung over the fire.

The furnishings were simple and few. Stools and benches provided seating and a table at the front of the hearth provided a place to eat. Reis went to one of the wooden cupboards that stood along a wall just beneath a window and pulled out a glass bottle filled with a bluish liquid.

Alicia watched as she crossed to the other end of the house, which accommodated the bedding of the occupants of the house. Lavian lied on one of the beds made of straw while a small figure slept in the corner, who began to stir slightly.

The knight maiden looked curiously at the figure and decided to ask about it during breakfast, whenever that may be. Instead, she settled down on one of the stools and began stripping off her heavy equipment. She was safe and amongst friends and have no need of them for now.

While she was pulling off her gauntlets, Reis walked by and began taking out an assortment of items from the cupboards. She then replaced the pot in the hearth with a kettle.

After unbuckling her sword, her last piece of equipment, Alicia decided to help Reis as much as she can. "Anything I can do to help?" she offered.

"Yes," Reis replied as she continued to move around the place, going from cupboard to cupboard pulling out more items and laying them on the table. Soon the kettle began to whistle, which stopped when Reis pulled it out of the fireplace. She began to pour the hot water into a basin.

"Take these to Orlandu," she instructed as she gave Alicia some rags and the bowl of water, "while I'll set breakfast."

The knight maiden took the proffered items and joined the old knight who was examining Lavian's wound. "Her wound needs some tending," Orlandu explained to Alicia when she arrived with the items.

"I figured as much," the redhead nodded as she settled down next to the old knight. "We didn't have any items. Her chocobo tried to heal her, but it only managed to ease the pain somewhat and I'm not very skilled in white magic."

"I told you we should have stocked some potions for emergencies," Lavian chided, wincing as Orlandu wiped her wound with the damp cloth.

"Well, it couldn't been helped," the grizzled knight stated while dressing the injury. "All you need now is some rest and you'll be fine." He then stood up when he was done. "Rest," he instructed the knight maiden. "Your breakfast will be brought to you." Carrying the bowl and rag back to Reis, he left the two knight maidens alone.

Alicia turned to her partner and smiled. "We're safe now."

"But we can't stay up here forever," denoted Lavian.

"You're right," Alicia agreed. "But now that we're safe among friends, we should take the time to think of a plan, of what to do next." She then became thoughtful. "Perhaps Orlandu can help us somehow."

"Perhaps," Lavian allowed.

* * *

Alicia soon found out that the sleeping figure in the corner was none other than Beowulf and Reis' son, Draco. The knight maiden met the young lad when they had gathered around the table for breakfast.

The boy was only three years of age with the looks of his father and the repose of his mother. He sat on his mother's lap, carefully spooning the bowl of soup in front of him. Reis smiled as she wiped some of the soup that dribbled down his chin.

"So that's what happened," Orlandu mused after hearing Alicia's story. His expression was thoughtful as he absorbed the tale. "Then that means that carriage we saw a month ago was probably carrying her," he added thoughtfully.

That statement caught Alicia's attention and she gazed at the old knight from across the table. "Do you know where they had taken her?" she inquired.

"Yes," Beowulf replied and Alicia turned her gaze towards him. "I believe they were taking her to Limberry, to a Lord Birch."

Alicia sighed in relief. "That's good. I was afraid that the priest would have given Ramia to a harsh family that would treat her differently. Lord Birch is a good man. I have no qualms that he would raise her well." She then sighed again, this time out of exhaustion. "Now what? As Lavian said, we can't stay here forever. We can't sit by and do nothing."

"Those were my thoughts exactly," Orlandu agreed.

"You have a plan in mind?" Alicia asked hopefully.

"Indeed, I do," the old knight nodded solemnly. He then stood up to stand in front of a window and stared at the view, which showed him the surrounding mountains. He turned back to look towards the group before stopping his gaze at Alicia.

"Your being here has given me hope that the rest of our comrades are still alive and well," he began. "We need to find them before we can confront the Church."

"But where will we search?" Beowulf questioned. "Ivalice is a huge continent. They could be anywhere."

"True," Orlandu agreed. "I was thinking to start our search at Orbonne Monastery where we had parted ways. It is considered haunted by the populace so no one dares enter there even the Church. I'm sure those who had escaped capture are staying there now."

Alicia nodded in agreement and Beowulf said, "That sounds like a good place to start."

"Good," Orlandu said pleased. "We'll leave as soon as Lavian is fully healed."


	6. Betrayal

**Chapter Five: Betrayal**

Bervenia Free City.

A town under the divine guidance and protection of the Church. They claimed dominance of this small city because of its significance. It is said that St. Ajora was born in this very town.

According to historical texts, it was an uneventful night. His birth was treated like any ordinary birth with a midwife to help the mother in the birthing. The child was not considered significant. All the family hoped for was that He would survive the first few years of His life since there was a high mortality rate for young children during that age.

The Church, however, tell a different tale.

Religious texts claim that during the night of His birth, a choir of angels had appeared to hunters outside of the city singing their praises to God, proclaiming the birth of His Son. Shocked at what they saw, the hunters decided to pay the 'Son of God' a visit.

Somewhere far to the east, three men saw a star that shone brighter than the rest. They say that it was a sign from God announcing the birth of a 'Miracle Child'. Like the hunters before them, they went to search for this child, following the star that they believed would lead them. After months of travel, they finally reached Bervenia, the star they had saw in the east shining brightly directly above. They went to see the child in His home, bringing him gifts from the East, before returning home to bring news of this child.

Of course these were just stories fabricated by the Church to explain Ajora's 'divine' origins, to explain how He, as a child, was able to prophesy about a calamity that would befall on Bervenia.

Everyone in Ivalice know about the tale of St. Ajora when He was a child, how He had walked up to the well in the middle of Bervenia and foretold that disaster will come from it and that the people of the city must not drink from it.

Several days later, plague swept through the city, killing those who drank the tainted well water. The families who had listened to the boy survived and had not fallen to the disease. This was how St. Ajora had earned the title of 'Son of God'.

And why the Church claimed Bervenia under its jurisdiction.

It was home to many knights of the Church, ranking from lowly Shrine Knight to prestigious Divine Knight. It was also home to many Church officials who alternately conduct services at the lavish temple built around the well where Ajora had prophesied. But most importantly, it was home to one distinguished family of the Church.

The Tingels.

The city knew the Tingels, knew Vormav Tingel to be the Head of the Temple Knights of the Murond Glabados Church and in charge of the High Priest's safety. Knew Izlude Tingel to be loyal to the Church and to his family. And also knew Meliadoul Tingel to be headstrong and obedient when it came to serving the Church with her blade.

_But whatever happened to the family?_, people had wondered as they passed by their house, which stood a block away from the temple.

During the past five years, it had stood there empty. No one dared enter it as if it would defy God Himself. But unbeknownst to the citizens of Bervenia, a Tingel once again roamed in their midst.

Meliadoul stood in the shadow of the temple, staring at the house she had once called home, clothed in a dark brown cloak with a hood that covered her stern features.

Her home had begun to decay with the windows dusty and cobwebs hanging in the corners. Though made mostly of stone and mortar, it was beginning to crack and the wood that helped support it was beginning to rot from lack of maintenance. Give it a few more years and the house would literally crumble to dust.

However, that did not matter to her as she walked away from the shadows and into the sunlit streets, heading towards a shady building near the entrance of town. The former Divine Knight, now turned mercenary, entered the shabby establishment and stopped immediately at the sight of a Shrine Knight speaking with the administrator of the soldier office.

The Shrine Knight turned towards her at her entry then turned back towards the owner to finish up their conversation. After a few minutes, the owner nodded and the Shrine Knight left.

Meliadoul watched the knight go before approaching the owner. "What was that about, Rudo?" she asked the overseer.

Rudo looked out of place sitting behind his desk all cluttered with papers for he did not look like one to handle paperwork. Hands that looked to grip the hilt of a sword or the stock of a crossbow held a quill pen in fingers that seemed strong enough to squeeze someone's neck. He wrote something on a piece of parchment while motioning to Meliadoul to take a seat.

The cloaked woman obliged, pulling a chair up to the desk and waiting patiently for the man to finish. While looking at the overseer, she wondered how he had received the job. His stature was one made for a warrior with his broad chest and wide shoulders. The man hardly smiled much, always composed and cautious. Despite that, she knew that a warm heart hid beneath that rough exterior.

After a few minutes, Rudo was finished with his task, replacing the quill back into its inkpot. He then looked up at Meliadoul with a faint smile across his harsh features. "Just the person I wanted to see!" he exclaimed in greeting to the woman. "The Shrine Knight you just saw offered an interesting proposition. Care to listen?"

Meliadoul leaned back in her chair. "If it has something to do with the 'Heretical Hunt' that's been going on, then you have my ears," she replied casually but in truth, she was curious and a bit anxious.

"You are as keen as your sword," Rudo complimented. "Yes, it's about the hunt. It seems that they have trapped two heretics at nearby Doguola Pass. The Shrine Knights are enlisting the help of my soldiers. I'm organizing a company. Care to join or would you rather work alone as usual?"

Meliadoul shifted in her seat as she absorbed the news. For the past five years, she did not worry about her friends but ever since Father Jaren had gained power within the government, she had begun to worry. Her anxiety did not go unwarranted for news of a capture had reached her ears. Now two more are about to be caught but she could not let that happen.

"You know me too well, Rudo," Meliadoul replied as she sat up. "It'll be the usual. Just tell me the names of those heretics and they're as good as caught!"

"Let's see." Rudo rummaged through some papers. "Here it is," he said pulling out two parchments and handing them to the mercenary. "These are the two: Lavian Wayte and Alicia Lavitz, personal knights of the already caught heretic, Agrias Oaks."

Meliadoul knew them, of course. She briefly looked at the papers then handed them back to Rudo. "This will be the hardest job I'll have so far," she commented as she stood to leave.

"But it will also be the most rewarding once it's done," Rudo returned. "With the kind of money on their heads, you could quit your job and settle down somewhere."

"Maybe," Meliadoul allowed before leaving the building.

Rudo shook his head. "What a strange woman," he muttered to himself before resuming his plentiful paperwork.

* * *

Meliadoul walked briskly to her home at the slums of Bervenia located towards the eastern end of town. In truth, it wasn't really her home. She knew of a family that had been good friends of hers for quite some time. They had owed her a debt, not in monetary value, but a favor. The family took her in as repayment for that debt despite her being hunted by the Church. She had warned them of the consequences if they were caught but that did not deter them from helping a friend.

The slums was an unkindly place filled with beggars and thieves. However, they strayed away from the cloaked figure that passed by. Meliadoul couldn't care less of such vagabonds as she navigated the alleyways towards a humble wooden edifice that stood at the southern most point of the slums.

When she reached the home, she was glad to find no one. Every time she had gone on a job, someone would try to stop her saying that it wasn't safe. But how could she support them if she were to do nothing?

She entered the building and grabbed her gear, which consisted only a bag of potions. She already has her sword equipped and she wore a leather shirt for slight protection. She had to abandon heavy armor for the light protection of clothing ever since she started being a mercenary for possessing such heavy armor was a sign of wealth. A mercenary was not wealthy nor was the family she was staying with so to avoid unwanted attention, she had to abandon it.

Seeing that she had everything she needed, Meliadoul strapped the bag of potions unto her belt and left the house to do her job...

That was three days ago.

Now the former Divine Knight was on the road to Lesalia to have an audience with Father Jaren. Four Shrine Knights surrounded her, the one in front of her riding the only chocobo in the group. She had been stripped of her equipment but she was given the liberty to walk without being bound.

The day was near its end when the small group reached Grog Hill, the largest granary in Lesalia. Large fields of grain swayed in the evening breeze as three of the four knights set up camp.

Meliadoul watched as they put up a tent and started a fire. The chocobo was picketed and rations were passed among the knights. The knight watching her then motioned her near the fire where one of the knights handed her a dried piece of meat. She accepted it as she sat down by the fire.

The group sat quietly by the campfire eating their sparse meal. Meliadoul felt their eyes upon her, watching her as she continued to eat. She saw that their hands were kept near the hilt of their swords at all times.

_Even without my sword, they think I'm dangerous_, she thought as she finished her food. She then saw two knights stand and approach her.

"You, in there," one of them ordered, pointing to the only tent.

Meliadoul stood and obeyed without question. She entered the canvas and watched as the knights closed it behind her. She sighed as she sat down. Then, seeing no harm in it, she laid back down with her hands folded behind her head.

_Curse my luck_, she thought miserably. _I just hope Lavian and Alicia were able to escape the search party. _

Meliadoul thought back on how she got captured. She had minded her own business while at Doguola Pass, keeping to herself as she searched the rocks. The mercenary company from Bervenia knew of her methods and stayed clear away from her. But they did not know exactly the method of her success.

Suffice to say, they got the first glimpse of it.

The company had successfully located the knight maidens in one of the many caves in the Pass. Being at a nearby cave, she had heard the shouting and immediately went to investigate. What she saw had rushed her into action.

She hurriedly climbed the rocks to their location, noticing three chocobos running from the company. What she failed to see, however, was the archer taking quick aim and firing his weapon. The bolt had successfully hit one of the riders, who swayed in her saddle.

Acting on the impulse to save her friends, she executed one of her Mighty Sword skills—skills that were reserved for Divine Knights. She had seen the archer reloading his weapon, and being too far to counter, she did the only option that was open to her.

She had executed Hellcry Punch.

The archer screamed in pain, the string of his crossbow snapping in twain, as the sensation of being sliced in half filled his mind. The company was surprised to have witnessed the attack for they have not heard any Divine Knight joining in the search. They quickly became aware of her presence and began questioning her about the attack. She tried to evade their questions but they came too quickly.

Suddenly, she heard one of them mutter to another: "She looks very familiar. I know I've seen her somewhere before..."

From that point on, she knew it was time to escape. Backing away from the crowd, as they were dumbfounded, she started running, running away from the company. At her back chased the company, coming to the realization that she was Meliadoul Tingel, the heretical Divine Knight. She nearly escaped but her sword skill had attracted the attention of nearby search parties.

She had displayed her secret at the cost of her friends' escape.

Unable to outrun her enemies, she decided to fight only to be overpowered by the overwhelming crowd...

Meliadoul sighed once again as her mind returned to the present. It was only a matter of time before she would join Agrias at the chains...

* * *

Morning warranted an early departure from the fields of grain, the somber group breaking camp as soon as the sun peaked over the horizon. They resumed the last leg of their journey to the Imperial Capital of Ivalice.

Once they reached the splendid palace in the middle of the capital, Meliadoul was immediately escorted to the audience chamber where Father Jaren sat behind a long ornate table, skimming through some papers stacked to the side.

"Divine Knight Meliadoul Tingel," he began in his blank voice as he read a parchment from the stack, "daughter of Vormav Tingel, Head of the Temple Knights of the Murond Glabados Church and sister to Izlude Tingel, a respected Knight Blade of the Church." He then looked up at her.

"You have quite a legacy, Lady Tingel," he continued in a grave tone. "I was saddened to have read about your betrayal to the Church you have sworn to serve in this report," he gestured towards the stack of papers, "that the heretic, Olan Durai, had written. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"I have betrayed no one," Meliadoul refuted, "least of all, the Church. It is the Church that has betrayed the people with lies!"

"Blasphemy!" Jaren gasped. "I see first-hand that the heretic, Ramza Beoulve, has tainted your soul. But we can remedy that."

"Why?" the former Divine Knight questioned defiantly. "Ramza has not tainted my soul but has opened my eyes! He has shown me the truth!"

Jaren sighed as he pushed his chair back and stood up. "The truth, the truth," he muttered as he walked around the table to face Meliadoul. "Olan spoke about this 'truth' in his report and so did Agrias when she was tried." He then shook his head as he walked back to his seat.

"I'm dismayed to hear from you your belief in this lie," he murmured as he resumed his seat behind the table. "What should I do with you?"

Meliadoul stood silent, puzzled by the priest's question. Wasn't he going to send her off to help rebuild some ruin just as he had with Agrias? Or did he have another plan in mind?

"You don't know how hard it is for me to sentence a Divine Knight of a very distinguished family," Jaren continued. "A family once thought dead. But you can restore your family's name by relinquishing your belief in this lie. You'll then be reinstated back into the Temple Knights of the Murond Glabados Church, serving the Church once more and helping us in this 'Heretical Hunt'. What say you, Lady Tingel?"

"You're asking me to betray my friends," Meliadoul replied harshly. "Five years ago, I have vowed that I would never do the deeds of the Church ever again. I bear that vow even now. So do with me as you wish for you'll never receive my cooperation."

"I see," Jaren sighed regretfully as he rubbed his temples. "Then this trial is adjourned. I will decide your sentence within the week." He motioned to the two knights flanking her to take her away.

As they left the audience chamber, another Shrine Knight entered. "Milord," he called.

"What is it now?" Jaren muttered darkly.

"The mercenaries that have caught the heretic have arrived and they demand payment for her capture," the Shrine Knight informed the priest.

Jaren scowled. "I don't have time to take care of such matters," he growled. "Tell them to wait in the city until they are summoned. I have more important business to attend to."

"As you will, Your Eminence," the Shrine Knight uttered as he bowed. He then turned to leave.

"No, wait!" Jaren halted the knight as a thought occurred to him. The Shrine Knight turned back to regard the priest.

"I have a better idea," the priest continued, folding his hands in front of him, his eyes shining brightly. "Bring those mercenaries to me. They shall be paid well."

"As you wish, Milord," the Shrine Knight nodded and left the room to do the Cardinal's bidding.

* * *

Ben Cayton, company leader of the mercenaries from Bervenia, looked around his lavish surroundings as his company of eleven men was escorted into the audience chamber. They were awed to see such finery within the Imperial Palace. It did not disappoint them for a moment.

"Welcome!" Jaren greeted the ragged group as they entered. "I must thank you for aiding us in this hunt."

Ben shifted his gaze from an elaborate round shield hanging on the wall to the priest. "Well, y'can show us yer thanks by givin' us our payment," he replied in a rough voice.

Jaren nodded. "In due time, in due time. But first, I would like to discuss with you about this heretic. For your cooperation, you'd be paid double the reward."

The company immediately murmured in agreement, their eyes twinkling at the mention of being paid double. "All right," Ben agreed, "y'have our cooperation. What do y'like t'know?"

Jaren smirked as he began the discussion...

...which lasted for a few hours. Satisfied with the information he just received, Jaren stood from his chair and ordered for a chest to be brought out.

A few moments later, Ben watched as two knights carried a huge worn chest to the audience chamber from a side door. The company gathered around the chest as it was opened and gasped at the sight.

"That has t'be over a million gil!" someone breathed in astonishment.

The chest was closed and latched and the two knights returned to their posts. "Five hundred million gil to be exact," Jaren corrected as he approached them. "All yours for your help. You have my sincere thanks."

"An' you have ours," Ben returned. He then ordered two of his men to carry the massive chest. His company then began filing out of the room. "Nice doin' business with you, M'lord," Ben said as he bowed, waving his hat in a sweeping motion before following his fellows through the doors.

Jaren watched the last of them leave before turning to another knight. "Well, you heard them," he told him. "Take a few men with you and arrest this family in Bervenia. I want them to be brought here unharmed, understand?"

"Perfectly, Your Grace," the knight said. "We shall leave at once." With that said, the knight left.

Jaren walked back to his seat and sat, his mood thoughtful. "I shall have your cooperation yet, Lady Tingel..."

* * *

Meliadoul wondered what was delaying her sentencing. The week was almost over and still she heard no word from the priest. She paced her chambers restlessly, pondering on his tardiness.

And pondering on why she had been moved from the dungeons to a chamber in the palace three days ago.

After her trial, she had been escorted to the dungeons, located below the first level of the palace, and placed in a cell. During the next two days, she had laid down quietly on the straw pallet, staring at the grimy ceiling as she listened to the screams of the other prisoners.

On the third day, she heard the key rattle in the lock, the cell door swinging open afterwards. Thinking it was time for her sentencing, Meliadoul rose slowly from her straw pallet. She wondered if it was day or night; she had no way of knowing for there were no windows in the dungeons. She blinked in the torchlight as she slowly walked out of her cell.

The two guards did not say anything as she was ushered out of the dungeons and into the sunlit hallways of the palace. The route they took through the corridors was the same as before but when they came to an intersection, instead of turning right towards the audience chamber, they turned left towards the guestrooms of the palace. Curious, she questioned the guards on where they had planned on taking her. They did not reply but soon received her answer when they stopped at a door and motioned her to enter.

Meliadoul entered cautiously, thinking this to be some sort of trap. What she hadn't expected was a well-furnished room complete with a bed, a table with a pitcher of wine and a goblet, and a hearth. She walked around the room, gazing at her rich surroundings. She then turned towards the door as the soldiers closed it and locked it. She realized then that this was to be her new prison...

Meliadoul sighed as she poured herself another cup of the rich wine. _That priest is up to something_, she thought as she sipped the draft. _I know it. _

From the first time she laid eyes on him, she loathed him. There was something about him that struck her the wrong way. Perhaps it was his clothing for which priest would wear black? Or perhaps it was his voice for it lacked that inspiring quality that other priests possessed. But she knew one thing, whatever it was, she didn't like it.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts and she bid the knocker entry. A Shrine Knight—they were beginning to be an eyesore to her—entered. "You have been summoned to the audience chamber," he announced.

"Finally," Meliadoul muttered as she was escorted out of the room. She was then ushered to the audience chamber by two Shrine Knights.

Upon entering the chamber, she caught sight of the family that had hid her. "What is the meaning of this?" she demanded Jaren who sat in his usual chair at the ornate table, smiling smugly.

"This is your sentencing," Jaren replied calmly. "Or should I say, their sentencing." He gestured towards the family before standing up and approaching Meliadoul. "I'm sure you know what happens to those who harbor heretics," he stated with a smirk.

Meliadoul's eyes widened. "No!" she shouted. "They're innocent! They don't know anything! Leave them out of this!"

"I'm afraid your request fall on deaf ears, Lady Tingel," the priest said, his tone full of conceit as he walked away from Meliadoul and towards the family. "Tomorrow they shall hang from the gallows in the city square for their crime," he continued as he looked at the family's only child.

The boy gazed at the priest fearfully as he hid behind his mother's skirts. His father stood protectively in front of them, staring defiantly at the priest. "At least spare my son," he pleaded. "He doesn't understand what's happening."

Jaren gazed at the father then at the boy. "I'm afraid your request, too, fall on deaf ears," he stated nonchalantly. He then smirked as he added, "Why separate a child from his parents? He'll have no place to go when you're dead. It's a shame really." He shook his head. "He won't even get to experience the rest of his childhood, only the hardships of living day to day. It's best that he joins you at the gallows. As they say, live together, die together."

"No, you can't!" Meliadoul screamed echoed by the father. She would have charged at the priest but she was held back by the two Shrine Knights that guarded her. "I said they're innocent!"

"Deaf ears, Lady Tingel, deaf ears," the priest repeated haughtily as he walked back to the table.

On the table was a white cloth covering something beneath it. "There is, of course, a way to save them," he commented, his back towards them as he stroked the cloth.

"What?" the former Divine Knight asked skeptically.

"Yes, Lady Tingel," Jaren nodded. He then pulled the cloth, revealing the items hidden beneath: a sword, a shield, and a green cloak befitting of a Divine Knight. "This," the priest gestured at the equipment as he turned towards them, "is their salvation. Become a Divine Knight of the Church once again, help me capture the rest of the heretics, and this poor family shall go free. Help me not and they shall hang from the gallows. What say you, Lady Tingel?"

Meliadoul was at a loss for words as she stared at the equipment.

"If I were you, I would choose your words wisely," Jaren warned, "for they have the power of life...or death."

Meliadoul gritted her teeth as she shifted her gaze from the equipment to glare at the priest. She then looked to her friends then again to her equipment lying on the table. Her assumption about the priest being up to something was proven correct. The Church was corrupt, she knew that already, but to go as far as to take a family hostage was going to the extremes.

She clenched her fists, knowing which decision she has to make. She looked again at the family that had hid her, specifically to the boy that held onto his mother's skirts in fear. Looking at him gave her the resolve that the decision she was about to make is the right one.

Composing herself to look dignified, Meliadoul confidently took a step towards the table and was about to take another when one of the knights grabbed her arm. She turned her head slowly to glare at the knight as if to challenge him. Taken aback by the stare, the knight reluctantly let go of her arm.

Jaren watched, pleased as Meliadoul stepped towards the table and looked at the equipment. She then reached both hands forward towards the sword and unsheathed it, staring at the blade afterwards.

"As you command..." she uttered as she turned towards the priest and looked at him in the eyes, "...Your Excellency."

_Forgive me, Ramza..._


	7. The Unforgiven

**Chapter Six: The Unforgiven**

Fort Zeakden.

A fort built during the Fifty Year War to protect against Romanda, a military state separated from Ivalice by Larner Channel.

During the War, Romandans had marched on Ivalice under the orders of King Valowa of Ordallia, a blood relative of Romanda's ruler. But they were forced to retreat in two years due to an outbreak of bubonic plague in their country.

After their withdrawal from the War, King Denamunda of Ivalice ordered a fort to be built somewhere along the shores of Larner Channel where it could stand guard against the Romandan Army should they return.

The draftsmen in charge of the project decided to build the fort in an area northeast of Igros Castle, where cliffs stood high above the channel, a perfect place to keep watch for impending trouble.

But a difficult place to build such a bastion.

It constantly snowed there, its frigid temperatures freezing building equipment. Hands became too numb to hold hammers properly and mortar would solidify before it was applied to the stones. But those were minor problems.

The biggest problem was trying to keep the builders alive through the chilly weather. The snow claimed as many men as one of the many battles fought in the Fifty Year War. But their sacrifice was not in vain.

Over a year since the project began, construction was complete. And just in time too. A few weeks after, those standing watch sighted an armada of Romandan ships approaching. They were successful in keeping them at bay while a rider rode to nearby Igros Castle to warn them of the incoming threat.

Igros replied by sending reinforcements to help fend off the invading army. With both their efforts—Zeakden and Igros troops—the Romandans didn't get the chance to set foot on Ivalice. They retreated back to their country and were never seen again.

After the Fifty Year War had ended, Fort Zeakden was abandoned, the snow burying the mighty stone and wooden bastion...

...until the Death Corps decided to make it their base six years ago.

The Death Corps, led by Wiegraf Folles, was an anti-aristocratic group. Comprised of former members of the Knights of Death, a volunteer group who fought at the end of the Fifty Year War, they performed terrorist acts against the aristocracy as revenge for not being compensated for their services. At first, they were successful until they made the mistake of attempting to assassinate Prince Larg's assistant and taking a young woman hostage. Determined to end their acts once and for all, the Hokuten were mobilized to attack Fort Zeakden. Trapped within the fort's walls, the Death Corps decided to make their stand against the knights.

For a fortress that was built to guard against invasion from another country, how ironic it was for it to be used against the country it was built to protect. Little did they know, it was also to be their grave.

Gunpowder that was stored deep within the fortress for use with the cannons that repel enemy ships was ignited. The fortress shook as it collapsed into rubble and Fort Zeakden was no more.

But the threat of invasion was still a possibility.

Since the prisons all over Ivalice were becoming overcrowded with convicts, Jaren decided to make use of those criminals. They were to make repairs to all damages from both wars starting with the fort. And so, many prisoners were transported to Fort Zeakden to start rebuilding it.

The key rattled in the lock. The cell door swung open.

"Time for work detail, heretic," the jailer said.

Agrias rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she slowly stood up from her bunk. Chains clanking, she limped out of the cell to be lined up with the other prisoners, marched off to the quarries.

More than a week ago, she had arrived at the fort and was put immediately to work despite her weariness from the journey. Her ankles were chained, her wrists manacled before they placed her among the prisoners: stone-cutting in the mountain quarries, hauling the huge blocks back to the fort, struggling to fit them into place. All the work was done in the freezing snow.

She joined a group of prisoners; criminals that she had arrested or helped capture during her service in Lesalia's knights. Most of them knew her for who she had been, knew her for her deeds.

Especially for her deeds.

Some had thought of seeking revenge against her after they had served their sentence of rebuilding, repairing, refortifying Fort Zeakden. But now they laughed, seeing her among them, for it was the ultimate revenge one could wish for.

However, that wasn't enough for them. Knowing that she was a heretic—the worst kind of criminal known in Ivalice, far below murderers and thieves—they made life harder on her.

The foreman, Edward Martel, was not harsh to his prisoners, but he was not kind to them either. He saw to it that they were adequately watered and fed for a weak, sick prisoner was not fit for hard labor especially in this kind of weather. He worked them mercilessly, not sparing the lash when he needed them to work faster. He had a schedule to keep and would do anything to adhere to it.

None of the prisoners like being lashed. Yes, the cold climate help numb the pain somewhat but the sting of it flaying the skin was more than enough to bear. So, they devised a way of escaping the whip. For a fault they did, they would blame the heretic.

Agrias would find herself lashed mercilessly by a taskmaster for a fault she did not commit.

If someone tripped or fell, she would be whipped.

If someone dropped a stone, in turn breaking it, she would be whipped.

If someone lagged behind, she would be whipped.

_It's the heretic's fault!_ was becoming a common saying among the prisoners.

Their abuse, however, did not end there.

When night came, they were placed back in their holding cell—a huge storage room of the former fort that had somehow escaped the explosion that had destroyed the bastion—and were given dinner. It was during this time that trouble for Agrias would begin.

As she ate her share of the meal at her little corner away from the rest of the prisoners, she would hear their soft taunts and feel their stares. After their meal, some of the prisoners deemed it time for some 'entertainment' before retiring for the night.

That 'entertainment' being Agrias.

She would stand as two men approached her wearing sneers on their grimy faces, intending on dragging her to the middle of the room where her nightly tortures took place. She would always fight them off, to leave her be so she could mourn her fate, mourn the daughter she will never see.

But she would always lose, her strength waning from the numerous lashes she received during the day. They would drag her then beat her, spit on her, releasing their stress as they took pleasure in their game. When all were satisfied, they would leave her there, lying bruised and bleeding, broken.

It was then, through the pain, that Agrias prayed for death to claim her, to take her away from this place of misery.

But her prayers went unanswered and the routine continued...

...until one night, a week after her arrival to Fort Zeakden.

During the past week, Edward had noted the heretic's condition as she worked. The morning after her first night at the fort, he had seen the bruised eye, the cut on her lip. As the days passed by, he became aware of more and more bruises and cuts appearing. But she was still able to work and did not question about them. It was when he saw her limping one day that he became concerned and decided to investigate on the matter.

It was this night that he decided to pay the cell a visit. He slammed open the door to the holding cell, a cold draft entering the room, forcing the prisoners to bring their 'entertainment' to a halt. Edward slowly climbed down the stairs to the floor of the cell followed by two taskmasters holding their coiled whips.

When he reached the bottom, he scanned the room; the prisoners shrinking back into the darkness as his gaze fell upon them. His gaze then finally fell on the crumpled figure in the middle of the room finally understanding how she came to those bruises and cuts. He approached her slowly, his footsteps echoing around the room.

Silently, the prisoners watched as the foreman nudged the figure with the toe of his boot. The gesture elicited a groan from the prone figure and nothing more.

"Who did this?" the foreman asked the prisoners. When no one replied, he repeated the question, this time more harshly, his raging voice booming loudly in the room. He looked around angrily and when no one still replied, he snapped his fingers and the two taskmasters uncoiled their whips.

"I'll not say it again," the foreman said in a dangerous tone. "Answer now or all of you shall face the whip!"

He looked around again and still no one answered. "Very well," spoke the foreman as he motioned to the two men behind him to conduct their scourging.

The prisoners scurried in fear as they approached, huddling close to the corners. Then suddenly:

"Wait!" a man screamed and the foreman turned to regard the scraggly prisoner. "I know who did it!" the prisoner exclaimed desperately.

The foreman gestured for his taskmasters to halt. "Who?" he asked afterwards.

"Them!" The prisoner pointed to ten men at the opposite end of the room. "It was their idea! I took no part in it!"

"Traitor!" one of the accused men spat. "If I'm not mistaken, you agreed to it. Didn't she place you here too like the rest of us? Didn't you enjoy seeing her suffer?" He then looked at the rest of the prisoners. "Didn't you all?" he challenged them before looking at the foreman himself. "And why do you care who did this?" he questioned him, his eyes glaring. "Even though I'm not a devout believer of the Church, I know that heretics are supposed to die! I'm just helping her along the way."

"Is that the real reason why you do this act?" Edward asked coolly. "Or is it because she placed you here?" He studied the prisoner's expression through the pale moonlight that filtered through the open door. "I see," he said when he saw the prisoner scowl as he clenched his fists.

"And I gather that all of you feel the same way," Edward continued as he gazed at the group. "There is a saying: 'Revenge is a dish best served cold.' How ironic that you exact your revenge in this place of neverending snow. And now it's time that I exact my revenge as well."

"Revenge?" another prisoner questioned. "For what?"

"For yours," the foreman stated calmly. "Crippling a fellow prisoner, thereby reducing her labor efficiency, is a crime in my book. I cannot have weak and sick prisoners working the quarries especially in this God forsaken weather! So as punishment, all of you shall work tonight where the temperatures are well below the norm."

"What?" a ragged bearded man exclaimed. "You can't do this to us!"

"I just did," Edward said calmly. "Father Jaren wants this fort built within the month and he shall have it. I will not be delayed by your acts of revenge." He then motioned for the taskmasters to escort the prisoners to the quarries.

As they left, Edward looked down at the prone figure. "A pity," he murmured before finally leaving the cell.

The days following that small mishap, Agrias worked apart from the rest of the prisoners so her presence would not detract them from their task. No longer could they blame her for their errors, but still she felt their spite as she worked, felt their glaring eyes, felt their hated thoughts. But she couldn't care less of such things. She just wished to be left alone.

The prisoners were marched off to the quarries as usual. When they reached the mines, Agrias was taken further into the tunnel until she was not in sight of the prisoners, but still close enough to hear their voices. Her only task now was to cut stone blocks from the rock walls since her injured leg cannot carry the weight of a block across the fields of snow to the fort.

She took the pick into her hands and began chipping away at the rocks...

...until it was time to return back to their cells.

As the rest of the prisoners were ushered to the huge holding cell, she was taken back to her lone cell. Edward thought it would be wise to separate her from the others so they wouldn't 'damage' her any further. She was mightily glad of the gesture even though it wasn't really an act of kindness but more of an act of convenience. No matter for she would no longer hear the insults, no longer feel the pain of their torture. The bruises and cuts she had received during their nightly 'entertainment' had begun to heal.

But the scars would forever remain...


	8. Lamentation

**Chapter Seven: Lamentation**

Orbonne Monastery.

A monastery built around the time of St. Ajora's birth twelve centuries ago, it was a place where scholars from all around Ivalice gathered to study the many texts in its underground library, to write important documents and place them among the books in the library. The monastery was a continuously growing place of knowledge as texts were added to the library's collection during the centuries.

The library was a vast vault of knowledge filling five floors. The first three floors were filled with many historical writings and scriptures while the last two were filled with ancient scrolls and lithographs piled among the printed literary works.

Simon Pen Rakshu, head of the monastery and professor of theology, treasured the library, spending countless hours under the soft glow of candlelight studying the texts therein for it satisfied his thirst for knowledge. It was on one of these study sessions that he discovered the Germonik Scriptures.

The Germonik Scriptures was written by a follower of St. Ajora, Germonik, the disciple who betrayed St. Ajora by selling him to the Yudora Empire. It was a record of St. Ajora's activities, not the Ajora of the Church, but Ajora the man.

Once a devout believer in the teachings of Glabados, Simon lost his faith when he read the scriptures. But it inspired him to search for the truth.

At the same time, however, he was guilty for not bringing the truth into light because he was afraid that they would take the library away from him. So he kept the book hidden, translating the text whenever time permitted.

He was quite a busy priest, however. Not only was Orbonne a place of knowledge, it was also a place of learning. Simon taught the students history and literature, encouraging them to study the numerous texts in the monastery's library to search for life's answers within their pages.

He had taught many, the two notable students being Alma Beoulve and Princess Ovelia Atkascha. Both were bright young girls taking the lessons he taught to heart. During their stay, Simon had grown quite fond of them; proud to have witnessed their growth from innocent young girls to learned young women.

But, alas, their years together had drawn to a close.

As the Fifty Year War was coming to an end, Alma had received word that her father was dying and had rushed home to be by his side. Simon was saddened to see her go, but glad to have taken a part in her growth.

A year after the War had ended, it was time to see Ovelia leave as well. Little did he know that it was to be a turning point in the history of Ivalice...

The monastery had become quiet after their departure, the library seeing fewer and fewer scholars. Simon retreated back into the library translating the Scriptures once more.

A few months passed...

Instead of the soft whisper of a page being turned, there was the clashing of steel ringing throughout the library.

Temple Knights had invaded the monastery!

Their mission was to search for the Holy Stone 'Virgo' that was given to the monastery as proof of Ovelia's status when she came to live in Orbonne. Simon had tried to stop their efforts, to protect the library from being pillaged, but he was easily opposed. He watched helplessly as fellow priests fell one by one, struck mercilessly by the swords of the knights.

The knights then turned on him, mortally wounding him. He watched through glazed eyes as they entered the library searching each shelf, pulling out each book, ruining the library he so loved before passing out.

He didn't know how long he had been unconscious but when he came to, he saw a familiar face filled with concern. "Alma... Why...are you...here?" he asked weakly, his voice coming out in a soft whisper.

"What happened?" Alma asked anxiously.

Simon then explained the knights' intention of stealing the stone and the Church's ambition regarding the stones. He wanted to say more but fell unconscious once again...

The next time he awakened, he found Alma gone and the library quiet. Summoning what strength he had left, he slowly walked out of the library in search of the one person that could bring the Church to justice.

He found the person outside of the monastery, who quickly turned to him and helped him as he breathed raggedly, his breath coming out in short uneven gasps. Knowing that his time was short, he gave the young man the Germonik Scriptures he'd painstakingly translated for days, explaining the importance of the book.

He let out a sigh. "Now I can finally rest. Take care of the rest... Ramza... You're just like Balbanes... when he was young." With those last words, Simon Pen Rakshu, head of Orbonne Monastery, died peacefully in Ramza's arms.

Simon had finally found peace but the monastery did not.

A year after the tragic events that had last transpired within monastery grounds, Temple Knights once again invaded it. This time they were to open the gate to Murond, the city of death, the place where St. Ajora truly died.

Who would have thought that such a seal existed in the monastery? Was it the monastery's true purpose to hide such a seal, to make it look like it was a place of knowledge with all those books in the underground library when in fact it was the gateway to death?

Surprisingly, no one knew. Not one of the books in the library contained the history of the monastery. Even the Church was a bit skeptical about its existence. But it does not matter now that the monastery is empty.

Or has been.

Rad, while on the run from the Church, had thought desperately on where to hide. He went through all the available options in his head and not one presented a good solution. He then remembered a rumor regarding Orbonne Monastery and how it was believed to be haunted. Since the populace was very superstitious, he knew that they wouldn't enter such a place and deemed the monastery a perfect place to hide.

As the building loomed ahead, he urged his chocobo onward, relieved to finally have found a place of sanctuary.

The knight had never thought that he would return to this place of beginnings and ends. It was here that his journey with Ramza had truly begun and it was here that it had ended.

And, perhaps, this is the place where another quest would begin...

He chuckled at that thought as he dismounted his chocobo, which ran off, probably back to its owner. He didn't take notice of it, however, as he stared at the desolate building and its surroundings.

Weeds had grown wild around the monastery, overrunning the stone walkway that led to the thick wooden entrance of the stone building. Cutting his way through, Rad reached the portal and opened it with little effort.

Rad felt the cold air rush up to his face as though the wind sought release from the confines of the monastery. As he entered, his nose crinkled at the musty smell that filled the atmosphere, which reminded him of the underground library.

Unlike the underground library, however, sunlight filtered through the windows that surrounded the monastery walls, illuminating the chapel. The feeling of nostalgia overcame the knight as he walked further into the chapel, the memories coming unbidden to his mind.

When he reached the altar—the same altar where Princess Ovelia had prayed—he felt compelled to kneel and pray, to give thanks to God for providing this place of sanctuary even though he wasn't at all religious.

After his little prayer, he stood up and decided to look for the living quarters. He had a feeling that he would be staying here for a very long time...

But he wasn't to be staying alone.

A couple of days after his arrival he caught sight of Mustadio and his father arriving in a strange boat. They pulled up at the dock behind the monastery as he was about to go fishing at the end of that very same dock. He couldn't believe his eyes and neither could Mustadio.

Both were happy to see each other alive and well and Rad invited them to stay at the monastery as long as they wished. The Bunanzas gladly took his offer, adapting to their new home as easily as Rad.

The former knight was relieved to have such company in this time of uncertainty. They were safe, having no plans of leaving the safety of the monastery anytime soon.

The weeks passed by quickly, uneventfully.

Then one day...

Mustadio stoked the fire of the large stone fireplace in the kitchen of the monastery while his father sat at a table carving the two huge fish his son had caught at sea. Once the Engineer got the fire blazing, he poured water into the iron pot that hung over the fire before joining his father at the table slicing the vegetables that would go with the fish.

There was a peaceful silence as father and son prepared the midday meal. Mustadio soon finished with the vegetables and threw them into the pot, stoking the fire afterwards.

Soon Besrodio came over and tossed the slices of fish into the pot. "I'll go fetch Rad," Besrodio offered afterwards as he made his way to the door.

"No, father," Mustadio immediately protested, grabbing his father's arm. "I'll fetch him," he said. "Just stay here and look after the stew."

Before Besrodio could agree, their subject of conversation suddenly burst into the kitchen with a haunted look on his face. "Mustadio, come quickly!" Rad exclaimed breathlessly, urgently. "Someone is coming!"

Mustadio immediately became alarmed. "Stay here, father!" he shouted as he followed Rad out of the kitchen.

"Be careful!" Besrodio shouted after his son, wondering if he heard his message. He then sighed as he turned towards the pot and began stirring the stew with a wooden ladle.

* * *

"Do you know how many there are?" Mustadio questioned Rad as both men ran through the chapel towards the entrance.

"I don't know," Rad replied as they reached the wooden portal. "When I caught sight of them, I came immediately to get you." He pulled the door open and both men stepped out of the monastery and quickly hid in the brush.

"Where did you see them?" Mustadio questioned as he took out a small instrument from his bag.

Rad looked curiously at the tool. It was a small tube, both ends affixed with glass. "Towards Dorter," the brown-haired knight replied. He then watched as the Engineer looked through the device.

And became puzzled when he began to laugh.

"Friends!" Mustadio cried out in joy. "Our friends have come!"

"Friends?" Rad repeated dubiously. " Are you sure? They could be mercenaries who are brave enough to explore this so-called haunted monastery."

The Engineer shook his head. "Here," he said as he handed Rad the tool he just used. "Look through this spyglass and tell me what you see."

Rad took the proffered device, looking at it skeptically, before gazing through it. He let out a small cry once he peered through the glass, surprised at what he saw. He then placed the device down and looked towards the direction he was gazing at previously with the—what did Mustadio called it?—spyglass and saw only a small cloud of dust indicating that someone was approaching. But when he looked through the device again, he saw clearly who was approaching.

Mustadio was right! Their friends have come! He could see Orlandu walking in the lead wearing his usual brown cloak. Behind him was Beowulf carrying a boy in his arms and Reis walking besides them. He then saw three chocobos behind the group, two carrying female riders, knight maidens that were very familiar to the knight. But he did not see another that should have accompanied the two knight maidens and that troubled him. He then remembered the news of a heretic being caught.

"Agrias is not with them," Rad whispered sadly as he placed the device down.

"What?" Mustadio questioned unsure of what Rad was speaking about.

"Agrias is not with them!" the knight repeated more loudly. "Here! Take a look!" He thrust the spyglass into Mustadio's hands, who took it and peered into it. "Lavian and Alicia are there," Rad explained as Mustadio continued to peer through the glass. "But not Agrias. You know those two don't go anywhere without her, which means one thing..."

"That she's been caught," Mustadio finished as he placed the spyglass down. Rad nodded solemnly. "But we don't really know that," the Engineer argued.

"Perhaps," Rad said gravely.

A half an hour later, Orlandu's group arrived at the monastery and was surprised to be greeted by Mustadio and Rad. All exchanged pleasantries and, as Rad before him, Mustadio invited the weary group into the monastery. They gladly took the offer, picketing the chocobos before entering the stone building where a meal awaited them.

* * *

Besrodio was taking a sip of the brew to see if it was properly cooked when suddenly, the door to the kitchen burst open accompanied by the sound of laughter as Mustadio entered followed by his guests. He assumed that they were the ones that Rad had announced of their approach.

He heard his son bid his visitors to take a seat at the table while he prepared their meal. "Is the food ready yet, father?" his son asked as he went by his side.

"Ready," Besrodio nodded. "Go get the bowls."

Mustadio went to do his father's bidding, going into one of the cupboards and taking out a bunch of wooden bowls. Fortunately when they had first came here, they were relieved to find that the kitchen was well stocked with enough supplies to feed a battalion of knights. So it wouldn't be a problem to feed a few more extra mouths.

The Engineer then returned to his father, who began ladling out broth and fish. He then went to serve his guests that were looking forward to the meal after their long journey from Doguola Pass. After seeing his last guest served, Mustadio took a bowl for himself and joined the others, his father among them.

"I doubted that we'd find anyone here," he heard Beowulf state to Rad as he sat down. "But I'm glad to find that my doubts have been proven wrong. It's good to see more of our friends are alive and well. Orlandu was right in bringing us here."

The old knight nodded. "Yes, it would seem that I had guessed correctly."

"What made you guess that there would be anyone here?" Mustadio questioned curiously. "My father and I just came here by luck, not to mention it's the only place near the sea."

"You mean you haven't heard the rumors?" Rad asked incredulously.

"What rumors?" the Engineer asked innocently. The former knight just slapped his face and groaned.

"My son and I don't go out often to the bar," Besrodio said defending Mustadio. "As he said, it's the only place near the sea where we could dock the hovercraft we found in the underground mines while we were escaping."

"You escaped by sea?" Lavian inquired astonished and Besrodio nodded. "That's much simpler than escaping by foot."

"With a brigade of knights chasing your back," Alicia added darkly. "If it weren't for Beowulf and Orlandu showing up at the right time, we would've been captured. Those mercenaries and Shrine Knights are so persistent."

Rad nodded in understanding. "I know how that feels like," he said. "I barely managed escape myself. At least you had the help of Orlandu and Beowulf, but I'm sure you would have beaten those knights yourselves with Agrias watching your backs as always." He then looked thoughtful as he asked innocently, "Where is she anyway? Why isn't she with you?" The question was aimed specifically at Lavian and Alicia, who now wore dark expressions as the rest of their companions.

A sense of dread filled Mustadio's belly upon seeing such expressions. "Something has happened," he whispered ominously.

"Please tell us," Rad urged anxiously. "We've been living in this monastery in isolation for the past month and haven't heard any news regarding the search."

"It's not for me to tell," Orlandu said as he stood up. He then turned to Mustadio's father and smiled as he said, "Thank you for the stew, Besrodio. It was quite delicious. Now if you'll excuse us," he motioned to Beowulf and Reis and their son, "we'll take our leave. I'm sure you're all eager to hear what Lavian and Alicia have to say."

With that said, Orlandu left the kitchen. Beowulf and Reis stood to leave as well, saying their thanks before following the old knight's example. When they had left, the trio of men looked towards the two women.

"Where should we begin?" Lavian asked.

* * *

Beowulf saw to it that his family was settled. They found a sparse room, one among many others, in the living section of the monastery. A bed stood in one corner of the room that was big enough only to fit one person. Across the bed against the other corner of the room stood a simple dresser. By the window at the side of the room where light filtered in was a wooden chair.

The former Temple Knight frowned upon such furnishings, but what could he expect from the priests that used to live here? They did not look to earn many material possessions for they believed that they are rewarded more precious things when they die and pass on to Heaven. They lived a simple life, only acquiring essential things. Their rooms were a testament to their simplistic existence.

Beowulf sighed. It seems that he has to sleep on the chair while his wife and son have the comfort of the bed...

* * *

Orlandu stood outside the monastery gazing at his surroundings. He could hear the waves lapping against the dock at the back, could hear the grass rustle as the wind blew. Orbonne Monastery was isolated, apart from the world of Ivalice. Many had sought its solitude, to live apart from the rest of the world to escape its troubles.

_But we're not here to escape it_, Orlandu thought as he made himself comfortable, sitting at the edge of the stone walkway. _We're here because it's the only place we have sanctuary. No one will bother us here giving me time to think of our next move. We still have to find the others, that's for certain. But where do we start? _

As these thoughts crossed his mind, he didn't notice someone approaching until they spoke, "You seem troubled. What's on your mind, old friend?"

The old knight was startled, his hand automatically making its way to his sword. But he stopped when he saw that it was only Beowulf.

The former Temple Knight smiled as he took a seat next to Orlandu. He then sighed as he stared at the plains of grass that spread out before them.

Orlandu looked at Beowulf. The former Temple Knight and his family was the closest thing he has to a family. After they had gone their separate ways, he didn't realize then that they would meet again at the same place afterwards: at Mount Randoria. He found it ironic that the reason Beowulf chose the place to hide was the same as his: because no one climbs Mount Randoria any longer.

Since he was there already, he decided to stay with the former Temple Knight. They had built their home together and lived together as if they were family. When Reis gave birth to Draco, he joined in their celebration. They even permitted him to hold the child. At that very moment, he felt that he was _part_ of the family.

His mind was suddenly snapped back into the present when Beowulf asked, "Orlandu, are those wild chocobos?"

The old knight's head snapped upwards as he asked, "Where?"

"There," Beowulf said pointing towards a disturbance amid the grass.

Orlandu looked to where the former Temple Knight was pointing and immediately recognized the yellow feathers of the great birds. "Yes," the old knight nodded. "They're probably just passing through the plains."

After a few moments, however, they took note that the flock of giant birds was heading towards them. "Strange," Orlandu muttered as he stroked his beard in thought. "Why are they coming here?"

"Perhaps because they caught sight of our own chocobos," Beowulf suggested waving his hand towards the three picketed chocobos to the side of the monastery.

Orlandu turned to gaze at them. All three stood erect, their eyes focused on the approaching flock. Suddenly, one began to wark and flap its wings in a manner that warned of danger. Soon all three were warking and flapping their wings wildly.

Puzzled by their behavior, Beowulf asked, "What's going on with them?"

Orlandu remembered an important fact concerning their feathered steeds. Chocobos have very good eyesight, being able to see danger a mile away, perhaps more. It was this fact that made Orlandu act, his hand immediately going to the hilt of his sword. "Danger!" he shouted as he drew out his weapon. "They are warning us of danger!"

"What?" the former Temple Knight cried out in disbelief. He turned towards the flock they had seen and saw the flash of armor as they came closer. "No, it can't be! Those are—!"

"Shrine Knights!" Orlandu finished for him. "Hurry and warn the others!" he instructed Beowulf hastily. "I'll hold them off!"

"You can't fight them all yourself!" Beowulf protested rebelliously. "I'll—" He was cut short when Orlandu swung his sword towards him in a threatening manner.

"Do not make me repeat myself," the old knight threatened in a low tone. "Or I'll fight you also. Now do as I say, Beowulf."

The former Temple Knight knew it was no use to argue with the old one. He nodded once before running off into the monastery.

Orlandu clenched his teeth as he adapted a battle stance, hefting his Venetian Shield in his left hand and holding his Chaos Blade in his right. _Shrine Knights_, he thought disgustingly. _How did they know where to look?_

That question hung in his mind as he waited for his enemies to arrive. He counted about fifteen of them, their red capes unmistakable against the yellow feathers of the chocobos. As soon as they reached the vicinity of the monastery, they dismounted their chocobos and slowly approached him.

"Cidolfas Orlandu?" one of them asked.

"Yes?" Orlandu replied a bit puzzled by their display of modesty.

"You are under arrest for the crime of heresy," the Shrine Knight continued formally. "Please relinquish your sword and come with us to Lesalia to be tried. Resist and we will use force."

Orlandu chuckled, his eyes gleaming dangerously. "Then I guess you must take me by force," he smirked as he shifted his stance, his sword glowing slightly.

"I wish it didn't have to come to this," a voice declared apologetically, a voice that sounded very familiar to the old knight.

The Shrine Knights parted as a figure came forward—a figure Orlandu knew too well. He clutched his sword tighter as he growled softly, "Meliadoul! You dare betray us?"

Meliadoul lowered her head to hide her face within the hood of her cloak for she could not bear to look at the old knight whom she had called friend, whom she had fought side by side with. She couldn't stand at the look of her betrayal for she could hear it in his voice. In a soft, anguished tone, she said, "Forgive me, Orlandu, but I am bound to perform my duties as a Divine Knight."

"So that's how it is," Orlandu stated in a grave tone. "You used your rank to escape imprisonment. I have thought that you were made of better mettle. It seems that I have thought wrong."

Orlandu's harsh words stung Meliadoul's heart. "I have not done anything," she whispered painfully after a moment's silence. Then in a stronger voice continued, "I would have gladly gave up my rank, gave up my tongue! I would have gladly joined Agrias at the chains but I was denied all of these things!" She gave a shuddering sigh. "All of these things because I was—_am—_a Divine Knight..." she finished softly.

Orlandu seemed unconvinced, however. "Then why are you here?" he challenged her. "You vowed that you wouldn't be bound by the Church any longer. Why have you gone back on that vow?"

The heretical Divine Knight was shocked. Can he not see that it was difficult as it is for her to arrest the people that she had called allies? Can he not see that she didn't desire this to be so? Can he not see that she is suffering right now?

Before she could utter a response to Orlandu's challenge, there came an explosion behind the group that rocked the very ground itself. The Shrine Knights under Meliadoul's command immediately drew their weapons as they looked around for the source of the explosion. Their chocobos warked in alarm but surprisingly, did not flee.

Meliadoul, too, looked for the source of the explosion. She then caught sight of the source in the form of a grinning young man with a ponytail, holding a strange object in one hand.

"Hello!" Mustadio greeted cheerfully at the many Shrine Knights that were pointing their weapons toward him. Regardless of the danger they pose, the Engineer continued in his cheerful disposition as he threw the item he held—the item he had found in the mines—to one of the knights and said, "Here! Catch!"

The knight reacted immediately, catching the object in his hands. As soon as he caught it, Mustadio quickly ran away while nearby knights went closer to look curiously at the object.

But Meliadoul wasn't fooled. "No, you idiot!" she screamed as she ran towards the knight. "Throw it a—"

She didn't get the chance to finish her instruction as the object in the knight's hands suddenly exploded, immediately killing the knight and all those surrounding him. The shock of the explosion threw her back. She'd never seen a small item with such a huge explosive force. "What is that?" she breathed in disbelief. That item had instantly killed six of her knights!

"Dynamite!" Mustadio exclaimed merrily as he appeared among the tall grass holding the said object in one hand and his gun in the other. "An excellent mining tool really," he continued unperturbed, "but I can see that it has other uses as well."

His cheerful expression suddenly turned serious as he pointed his gun at Meliadoul. "I pity you, Meliadoul, for betraying us like this," he said grimly. "Now if you don't want to witness any more explosions, I suggest that you and your knights leave immediately or all of you shall perish here beneath the spire of this monastery." As he spoke, Rad, Lavian, and Alicia emerged from their hiding place within the tall grass and drew out their swords, ensuring the knights' departure.

Meliadoul saw her hope shatter before her as she stared helplessly at her former allies who wouldn't hesitate to kill even her. She had prayed that they would be able to aid her in her current dilemma, but now that seemed an impossible dream, unattainable by any means necessary. There was only one thing left to do...

She sighed as she drew her sword. "I wish it didn't have to be this way," she murmured sorrowfully. She then looked up to gaze at each of their faces, her grief suddenly replaced by cold determination.

"You are all under arrest for the crime of heresy!" she cried out in a clear voice. "Lay down your weapons and come with us peacefully! Resist and we shall use force! The choice is yours!"

"You know our answer already, Meliadoul," Orlandu replied grimly. "We will fight and none of you will leave here alive."

Meliadoul was about to say something in retaliation to the old knight's claim, but was suddenly interrupted by a shout from one of her knights.

The knight, the one that had first greeted Orlandu, snickered. "I think not, old man," he scoffed.

Meliadoul whirled around to glare at the knight, angry at the fact that he was taking the situation lightly. "Gerald, stand down!" she ordered. "There's no need for provocation!"

"Silence, wench!" Gerald retorted. "We are not bound to take orders from you anymore now that we have found our quarry."

Before Meliadoul realized what was happening, she was struck in the front by two arrows. "What...?" she exclaimed breathlessly as she faltered. She was then struck again, this time at the back, by two more arrows. The Divine Knight fell to one knee, leaning heavily on her sword to keep aright.

"Meliadoul!" Orlandu shouted. He then glared at the knight and demanded, "Why? Why did you shoot one of your own?"

Gerald snickered once more. "She wasn't one of us to begin with," he stated scornfully. "Father Jaren only used her to get what he wants: all of you. Now that her usefulness has ended, she's expendable. Despite her family history, he would not dare think of restoring her to the Church, but he took it into consideration. Be glad for your friend for she has been granted the luxury of death unlike the rest of you will have."

"So...that's how it is..." Meliadoul gasped softly as she rose slowly despite the pain that flared throughout her body, the arrows scraping against bone and muscle. "If I...must die...then I'm taking you...with me!" Her sword suddenly flared brightly.

"Armor won't help the heart stay sharp..." she intoned, grimacing as she felt more arrows pierce her flesh. "Shellbust Stab!" She swung her sword towards Gerald, who cried out in agony as a magical curved blade sprang from the ground and pierced through his armor, shattering it.

With that deed done, Meliadoul fell to the ground, her sword falling from weakened fingers, her strength spent.

This small act brought everyone into full wakefulness, realizing the threat the Shrine Knights posed.

"Beowulf!" Orlandu shouted as he raised his shield to deflect the arrows that were suddenly aimed at him. "Now would be a good time!"

The hidden Temple Knight replied by reciting a summoning spell: "Bear down with land energy! Titan!"

The wind suddenly picked up, the surrounding grass beginning to thrash around wildly. Suddenly, a giant flew from the ground clothed only in a loincloth, ready to stomp the earth below. With a roar, he struck the ground with his feet before melting back into the earth from whence he came.

The ground suddenly seemed to have a life of its own. It shifted beneath the Shrine Knights' feet uncontrollably, being raised and lowered or swinging from side to side. Knights cried out as they fell to the ground only to find that the ground was not the ground any more but a plateau up in the air ready to fall.

And fall they did.

They screamed as they saw the earth flying towards them at incredible speeds and screamed no more as they landed. As soon as the attack had commenced, it quickly ceased.

Orlandu saw that the summon took out most of the knights, as he had hoped. Seeing that the others were capable of defeating the rest of their enemies, he sheathed his sword as he immediately rushed to Meliadoul's prone form followed by Beowulf, who had suddenly appeared by his side.

Both men feared that they would find her dead, too late to help her. That fear, however, partially dispelled when they saw her breathing raggedly, as if each breath would be her last. She was still alive, but barely.

They knelt by her, one on each side, assessing her wounds. Grief gripped their hearts upon seeing all the arrows that had pierced her as if she was a practice dummy. Being veteran soldiers, they knew with heavy hearts that she was beyond help.

"Beowulf..." Meliadoul suddenly called in a raspy voice, surprising the two men.

The former Temple Knight gently took her hand, seeing that her eyes were dimming. The Divine Knight was losing her battle with death.

"Yes, Mel?" he asked her gently. "What is it?"

Meliadoul smiled briefly, fleetingly, the short name bringing back memories of their quest. They had begun to call her Mel shortly after she had joined the group for they complained that Meliadoul took too long to pronounce. She didn't mind the least, finding the diminutive quite endearing.

"Will you...forgive me...?" she asked weakly. She found that it was becoming difficult to speak, to keep her eyes open, even to breathe.

"For what?" Orlandu asked solemnly and Meliadoul's eyes shifted to him. The old knight smiled faintly as he continued, "You have done nothing wrong to ask for forgiveness, Mel. The Church deceived you without you knowing."

Meliadoul was touched by her friends' concerns and relieved to find that they still trusted her. Grimacing, she slowly reached for something in her cloak, pulling out a small package afterwards. "Here..." she whispered as she handed the package to Beowulf, who took it carefully. "Give this to..." she paused as she took a shuddering breath before continuing, "to...family...held in...Lesalia... Please...save them..."

The light of revelation suddenly lit up in Orlandu's mind, piecing together all the things that Meliadoul have said. "You were forced to betray us, weren't you?" he asked gravely.

"Yes..." she replied, her voice gradually growing weaker. "Promise me...you'll save them..." she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes began to flutter close, her breathing slower.

Orlandu saw that her time was near. He nodded and said, "You have my word, Mel. Rest now. Be at peace."

"Thank...you..." she sighed as her eyes closed for the final time.

And with those words, Meliadoul Tingel, the Divine Knight that had threw away all she had believed to join Ramza in his quest for the truth, died.

* * *

Rain and pain.

Funny how the two words sound alike to Alicia for they certainly go hand in hand. It had rained when Princess Ovelia was kidnapped from Orbonne; it had rained shortly after Agrias' trial; it had rained while she was trying to escape from the numerous search parties at Doguola Pass...

And now it rained at the death of a friend.

It had begun with a light drizzle. They had finished defeating all of the Shrine Knights and hurried on their way back to the monastery to see what had become of their wounded friend.

But they weren't ready for what they would find.

The light drizzle gradually turned into heavy rain when they had finally reached the stone walkway of the monastery. When they had arrived, they saw Beowulf fold Meliadoul's hands on her chest before standing up. Orlandu turned as the group approached and shook his head sadly.

They understood then that their friend was gone...

The rain continued to pour as the men dug a shallow grave for their fallen friend in front of the monastery. It was hard work for the rain had turned the ground into mud but they persisted with the belief that their friend deserved an honorable burial, one that she would not have received had she died as a captive of the Church.

Now the task was done, their friend buried. Orlandu stood in front of the group that had gathered to say their final farewells, holding Meliadoul's Save the Queen sword that was to serve as her grave marker. He slowly raised the magnificent weapon above his head and as he did, the rain gradually ceased. The clouds steadily parted, the light of the setting sun igniting the sword's blade in white brilliance.

The old knight stepped forward solemnly, the weapon still raised. He then reversed the blade and struck it onto the dirt mound, marking Meliadoul's grave before stepping back. "No words can describe how we all feel today," he began mournfully. "We have found and lost a friend. We must not be sad but happy for she was able to escape this world of suffering. Though she is gone, she will be with us always in our hearts. May her soul rest in peace..."

After Orlandu's small eulogy, the group stood in silent mourning as the sun sets...

Later that night, Orlandu watched as Rad, Lavian, and Alicia gathered the bodies of the dead Shrine Knights. He ordered their bodies to be burned instead of being buried for it would take too long. He did not plan on staying here any longer.

"That's the last of them," Lavian gasped as she dropped the last body along with the others. "Let's burn them."

Orlandu frowned. If he had counted correctly, the trio only collected fourteen bodies. "Wait," he said as Rad was about to apply the torch. "There's one body missing."

The trio of knights looked puzzled. "Are you sure?" Alicia asked doubtfully. "We collected all the bodies that we could find."

"Yes, I'm sure," the old knight nodded. "I counted fifteen when they first came _and_," he added pointedly when he saw that Lavian was about to say something, "that does not include Meliadoul." He knew that he had answered the knight maiden's question when he saw her mouth closed.

"Then that means one escaped!" Rad exclaimed alarmed. "We have to go after him before more Shrine Knights invade this place!"

Contrary to Rad's surprise, the old knight remained strangely at ease. "Don't worry," he said calmly. "We'll be gone from this place come morning."

The trio was shocked by the news. "Where will we go?" Lavian asked in concern. "Where will we stay?"

"Don't worry," the old knight repeated in a way that halted any more arguments. He then motioned to Rad to finish his task of torching the bodies. The knight nodded, stepping forward and lighting the wood that surrounded the bodies with the torch he held. He then stepped back as the fire spread through the wood.

Soon a blaze roared, sending embers high into the night sky as Orlandu, Rad, Lavian, and Alicia watched the flames dance, the light flickering on their haggard faces, the events of the day emotionally draining.

"Why?" Alicia spoke softly after a few minutes of reflective silence. "Why did this have to happen?"

All had the same question, but none had an answer. They continued to stand in thoughtful silence, watching the flames beginning to die with the same question being repeated in their minds...

_Why?_

* * *

The sun crept slowly over the horizon in greeting to those who were gathered once more at Meliadoul's grave, the sword gleaming faintly under the light. A breeze blew gently, rustling through the surrounding grass, caressing each of their faces, drying their tears. It was time for them to move on, if not for their sake, then for their departed friend.

Orlandu gazed sadly at the sword whose light grew brighter as the sun rose higher. He then looked to Mustadio, who was standing besides him, and nodded.

The Engineer nodded in return, taking out four sticks of dynamite bundled together from his bag. He then turned towards his father who, after a few tries with the flint, managed to ignite the fuses of the bundle of dynamite. As soon as the fuses lit up, Mustadio ran towards the monastery and threw the dynamite into the open portal of the stone building. He then rejoined the group and watched as the dynamite exploded, destroying the twelve-century year old building.

The ground shook as stone and wood showered all over the place. Once it died down and the dust cleared away, Orbonne Monastery was no more. A mound of stones was all that was left of the place of learning.

Perhaps the rumors were true about Orbonne being haunted for it was truly a cursed place. It had witnessed many tragedies that had taken place within its walls, within its grounds...

But no longer.

"Let us go," Orlandu said as he turned around and started walking away from the ruin. The group followed silently, not one of them turning to look back, trying to leave the place behind...

...and the sad memories that revolved around it.


	9. Gone Away

**Chapter Eight: Gone Away**

Galthana's Village.

It was once a small village that had welcomed travelers on their way to Riovanes Castle. There were many feasts as the villagers happily entertained their guests with song and dance...

And magic.

The Galthanas family, the head of the village, dazzled their visitors with their amazing tricks of manipulating nature. They would make fire dance, the wind blow, the sky glow with lightning, and water to flow from absolutely anywhere. But seldom did their guests know that it was part of their special skills that their family knew...

During the Fifty Year War, the village saw fewer travelers but they did not deny shelter to those who were brave enough to traverse the roads. Despite the grim circumstances surrounding the war, they happily served their visitors.

One of these visitors was Grand Duke Gelkanis Barinten.

The grand duke had watched in fascination as the Galthanas family performed one of their many shows, captivating the crowd with their tricks. Barinten was amazed and wished to know more about the family and the magic they performed. He soon found out that there was more to their magic than what it seemed...

Barinten craved their power, their skill. He went to the family elder, offering a huge amount of gil for their services, deeming their skills to be a valuable asset in his army. However, the family elder refused.

Furious, Barinten felt that if he could not possess them, then no one will. Two days after his fated meeting with the elder, Riovanes soldiers invaded the peaceful village. Men and women screamed and children wailed as knights struck them down like animals. Archers set fire to the buildings with their flaming arrows, intent on burning down the village.

The Galthanas tried everything in their power to stop the burning of their village, but they were doomed to die along with their home...

Those who managed to escape ran to the nearby mountains for safety. Those who were left behind were either killed by sword or burned to death. The soldiers were very thorough in their work, leaving no survivors.

After they were done with their terrible deed, they left taking any spoils they could find in the poor village. Only the burnt skeletal remains of houses and the numerous dead bodies that littered the paths were all that was left of the once joyful village.

Years passed since that fateful day...

Soon after the Lion War was over, two survivors returned to the ruined village in hopes of rebuilding it for it was their home. But they would not rebuild it at the same site as the old. It was the greed of their skills that brought ruin to their village and yet it was their fault for displaying such skills to strangers.

They would not make the same mistake. The village would be rebuilt, but hidden deep within the Fovoham Province where they could live in seclusion to safeguard their special skills that their family had honed for many generations: the Heaven and Hell skills.

Rafa and Malak, the last practitioners of these skills, decided to look towards the mountains for refuge, to look for those they had seen escaping on that day. Perhaps they were still alive scattered throughout the foothills. Or perhaps they had banded together and were now living under the shadow of the mountains. Whatever the case may be, their village will prosper once again.

And it had prospered for the past five years.

The siblings had discovered their people living together, spread out along a shallow valley that cradled a wide, slow-running river, the water clear between the grassy banks. Lush meadows lay all around, and the valley walls heavily timbered, the woods and the grass rich with game.

They had also discovered that the lifestyle of their people had drastically changed.

As they had first come down the valley's eastern entrance, they had seen the lodges of their people spread before them. These lodges, however, were not made of stone and wood as in the previous village, but of poles and behemoth hides.

At first, they had thought that they had stumbled upon a hidden village, but as they entered, they knew that they were home. One of the villagers that guarded the entrance to the valley immediately recognized the siblings. He took a bugle of bull demon horn that he held and blew a clarion call that had the entire village thundering to greet them.

Rafa and Malak were overwhelmed by the welcome, but glad to be among their people once again. Later, they had learned of how one of the refugees from the attack had stumbled upon the valley. Seeing that it was a perfect place to live, he had gathered the survivors he could find and brought them to the valley where they had been living since.

"A good place," an elderly man, the assumed chief of the village, stated. "Far from curious eyes and sharp swords. A place where we can live in harmony with nature, to the rhythm of the seasons, as our ancestors."

A year later, the old man died and Malak took the mantle of leadership, the village continuing to thrive under his guidance through the years...

Malak pushed aside the flap of his lodge, bow in hand, a quiver of arrows slung behind his back, and a small knife at his hip. He stepped out into the morning sunlight ready to begin the day's hunt for game. Rafa emerged from the lodge a minute later carrying a woven basket.

"Be careful, brother," the Heaven Knight advised worriedly as Malak was about to join the others that had gathered in the middle of the camp. "I don't want to see you arrive on a stretcher like the last time."

Malak shrugged as he said nonchalantly, "I was being careless. This time, however, I'll be ready." He then turned his head towards his sister and grinned. "Don't worry," he added comfortingly. "Just be prepared to cook a big feast when we return."

"I'm looking forward to it," Rafa smiled as she nodded then added sarcastically under her breath as her brother left, "I just hope that whatever you catch is big enough for the both of us..."

She shook her head at the thought before joining some women that were moving industriously amidst thickets heavy with red berries, plucking the fruit to deposit in woven baskets similar to hers.

* * *

Several eyes watched from the trunks of the surrounding trees as a pride of red panthers feasted on two yellow chocobos and one red chocobo they had caught on their hunt. They seemed oblivious to the men hidden in the foliage, intent on devouring their meal in huge bites.

Malak silently nocked an arrow to the string of his bow. He then raised the weapon, pulling the string back, sighting down the shaft, aiming towards the nearest panther. He waited patiently for the right moment, unawares of the others readying their weapons as well. His breathing slowed, sensing that the right time approached.

Inhale...exhale...inhale...exhale...inhale...

The Hell Knight was about to release the arrow with his next breath but the mountains suddenly echoed with the low baying of a behemoth horn. A flock of birds that were crooning on the branches of nearby trees took to the skies as the pride of panthers quickly abandoned their meal, dashing for the safety of the mountains.

Malak cursed as he lowered his bow, angry that someone would blow their horn. But anger became concern as several others answered the first horn. That only meant one thing...

He hurried through the brush, intent on reaching the village as soon as possible. Branches snatched at his tunic, twigs slapped his face, sticks snapped beneath his feet. Despite these obstacles, he pushed onward. He was not the only one, however, focused on reaching the village.

The rest of the hunting party also rushed through the forest upon hearing the calls of the horns for it meant danger was approaching.

_But what sort of danger?_, Malak wondered as he urged his body to move faster. One thing is for certain; he would try to prevent another tragedy from happening again.

* * *

Rafa stood in the middle of the village where everyone gathered to listen to the runner, who came down from the mountains to relay what he and the others saw while patrolling. The news of a group of people wandering through the forests and rocks set the villagers on edge.

"We have to scare them away before they get any closer to this valley!" one suggested loudly. "What if they're scouts sent from Riovanes?" The rest of the villagers shouted their agreement.

Rafa remained calm as the shouting rose to a crescendo. She knew they were right about scaring these strangers away but whom would she send? She then realized that it had become quiet and looked up to see that the villagers were waiting upon her word. There were times she wished her brother were present to handle these sorts of decisions.

These were one of these times.

"What should we do?" someone urged her from deep within the crowd. Shouts rose again, demanding the Heaven Knight to take some form of action before it was too late.

Rafa sighed as she raised her hands to quell the impatient crowd. The hubbub soon died, the villagers becoming attentive. She was about to say something in response to their demand but was suddenly interrupted by another shout.

"Rafa!" someone called out to her.

She turned to see her brother running towards her with a worried expression across his tired features followed by those who accompanied him. "Malak!" she returned in relief, glad to see him safe.

"What's happened?" her brother asked urgently. "We heard the horns blaring warning us of danger."

Rafa turned towards the runner and said, "I think it's best you explain it to them." The runner agreed, repeating everything he had told Rafa and the villagers.

After everything was explained, Malak nodded. Rafa could see that he was deep in thought. "All right," he said softly after a moment. "This is what we should do..."

The Hell Knight instructed that he and the hunters would go out and confront the approaching party since they were already armed. The rest he urged to be prepared to defend the camp if worse comes to worst.

Rafa was proud of him, for the constraint he showed as he organized both the assault and the running of the camp in his absence, which he charged her for that task. Her brother counseled her, entrusting her with holding the villagers in order and to prepare against the probability to defend themselves.

"I'm depending on you, Rafa," Malak said as his group prepared to leave. He leaned against his Octagon Rod, the weapon he favored, abandoning his bow and arrows but keeping the small knife still belted to his hip.

"I know," her sister nodded. "Be safe!"

Malak nodded and they were gone, the runner quickly leading the group.

* * *

"Orlandu, stop!" Mustadio shouted in protest. "Father needs to rest."

Besrodio leaned heavily on his son grimacing, his sore legs throbbing dully. "I'm fine, Mustadio," he objected stubbornly. "I don't want to hold the group behind on my behalf."

"Then you should at least ride one of the chocobos if you don't want to hold the group back," the Engineer argued. "Why must you be so stubborn at times?"

"You know how I feel about those birds," Besrodio reasoned.

Mustadio was about to argue his father's reason but was suddenly interrupted by Orlandu announcing that they should rest.

"So the two of you would stop bickering," the old knight added simply. "Your voices could have attracted the attention of a small army."

However, as soon as he spoke, they found themselves suddenly surrounded by tan-skinned men aiming their arrows at them. The group stood absolutely still, not wanting to provoke them to fire.

"What you said, Orlandu, is quite true!" a loud voice boomed. The group looked towards the sound of the voice to see it belonged to none other than Malak Galthana.

The Hell Knight was squatting on a huge boulder, holding his Octagon Rod horizontally in front of him in both hands, wearing a huge grin on his face. "Their voices did attract a small army," he continued. "My army." He then motioned his men to lower their weapons before jumping down the boulder to approach the group.

"Malak," Orlandu smiled in return, "do you always greet your guests at arrow point?" The old knight meant it as a joke but saw that it elicited a frown from the Hell Knight.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "Ever since Barinten attacked our village all those years ago, we have been wary of visitors. That's why we have moved deeper into the mountains, to avoid having guests. It was visitors that brought ruin to our village after all."

He then smiled. "But friends are always welcomed!" he exclaimed as he clapped Orlandu on the back. "Come!" he beckoned the group with a wave of his rod. "Let us return to the village and celebrate our reunion with a huge feast! What do you say, my brothers?" he asked his men.

The answer was a great shrill shout of agreement; a waving of hands and bows; an answering yelling that set birds to flocking in alarm from the timber; to wolves howling. The mountains resounded with their heartened cheer as they began their journey home.

* * *

As Malak led his friends through the lush forest, Beowulf sidled towards Orlandu. "Orlandu, I've been thinking," he began when he was besides the old knight, "why didn't the chocobos warn us of their approach?" He motioned towards the men that were escorting them. "We should have known that they were coming."

Orlandu nodded in agreement. "I've been asking myself the same question," he said broodingly. "It was as if something blinded their senses..."

"Magic?" Beowulf asked uncertainly.

"Perhaps," the old knight allowed. "You must ask Lavian that question being that she is the magically talented one of the group."

"I'll do just that," Beowulf stated. He gave the old knight his thanks before sidling up to Lavian, who was atop her chocobo, and explained what he had spoken at length with Orlandu.

"Magic?" Lavian inquired thoughtfully. "No, I didn't sense any magic. But you're right about the chocobos. Strange..."

Beowulf was no expert on chocobos nor was he an expert on magic, but his knightly senses told him that something was amiss. He just needed to figure out what. As the thought crossed his mind, he caught sight of one of their escorts talking to the only riderless chocobo. He observed their 'conversation', taking note that the chocobo seemed to respond to the man in sad warks. The man nodded in sympathy while stroking the chocobo's neck. He then saw Beowulf looking at him and smiled as he waved to him in a friendly fashion.

The former Temple Knight nodded in return. He then returned to Reis' side as he pondered at what he'd just seen. What did he see? Simple. A man conversing with a chocobo. That's very common to anyone especially if riding alone, but it was the fact that the chocobo _responded_ to the hunter that unnerved him. Did Malak's people have the skill to talk with chocobos, or in general, to animals?

Beowulf kept a mental note to remind himself to ask Malak when the opportunity arose. With that thought in mind, he looked forward and saw that they were nearing their destination, a valley where all the lodges of Malak's people spread out in glorious array, and set his mind to thoughts of a welcoming.

And when the group came down the long, wide slope of the valley's ingress, Malak motioned to one of his men, who took out a bull demon horn from his bag and blew a loud and clear call telling their kinsmen that they have returned.

"Welcome, my friends, to our village," Malak declared proudly, "Tenaktwa!"

* * *

Rafa was in her lodge when she heard the horn. She immediately ran outside to see that the villagers were gathering near the village entrance where she caught a glimpse of her brother leading a group of strangers. She soon joined the villagers, wondering who her brother brought to them.

"My God!" she gasped when she recognized the strangers, running towards them in greeting. "This is quite a surprise!"

"A surprise indeed," Malak agreed. He was about to say more but folk milled around, staring, all speaking at once. "Silence, please!" he urged his people with a raised hand. "And all will be explained!"

"Why have you brought these strangers to us?" one demanded angrily. "Have you not learned anything from that tragic day years ago?"

"Yes, I have," Malak replied gravely. "But these strangers are my friends," he argued, "and I trust them with my life. Strangers are not welcomed here but friends are always found wanting. Does any challenge their acceptance into the village?"

None objected. If their chief trusted them with his life, then they must trust them with theirs.

Malak beamed in approval seeing that no one protested. "Good!" he exclaimed. "I plan to hold a feast tonight in their honor. Who shall join me?"

There came a great cheer from the villagers as they dispersed to prepare for the festivities that were to come. Women chatted enthusiastically as they returned to picking fruit and vegetables while the men boasted of the vast quantities of meat that they were to bring from their hunt in the surrounding lands. It was going to be a feast of epic proportions, one that the people of Tenaktwa had not seen since the burning of their village.

Malak looked out across the camp, proud of his people. They had survived the War, but so many had been lost. He then looked to where Rafa was speaking with their friends and wondered what caused them to come here in the wilds of Fovoham searching for them. He feared that it was something of great import but pushed such fears aside. It was a time of celebration and if they did bring news from the outside world, they would tell in due time...

* * *

Night soon fell and a huge bonfire blazed in the middle of the camp. There were shouts of laughter as the sounds of drums and reed pipes filled the festive air. The youth danced to the beat of the drums in front of the flames, their moves graceful as an eagle in flight.

Orlandu and the others were crowded round with cheerful faces, most of them children who were curious to learn more about their guests. They were seated by a small fire on which meat roasted, the little ones bombarding the guests with questions, their eyes glowing with enthusiasm.

The group ate and drank, as they answered their questions to the best of their ability, especially Orlandu who was quite kind to the children. He answered most of their questions with a smile and sometimes a laugh to amuse them.

Soon the children grew tired of their guests and went to dance with their brethren near the bonfire. The old knight was a bit disappointed to see them go, having enjoyed his conversation with them, but remembered that a child's attention span was relatively short. He then felt someone tap him on the shoulder and turned to see Mustadio holding out a container of beaten metal towards him.

"Here," the Engineer offered the flask with his usual grin, "drink this. It'll help you regain some of that youthful vigor you've lost over the years."

"Hah!" Orlandu guffawed as he snatched the flask from Mustadio's hand. "I'm not that old yet!" He then tilted the pot and swallowed deep and long. And began sputtering as the fierce liquor went down his throat. "Ach!" he exclaimed when he finally caught his breath. "I've drank a lot of liquor in my days but this is the strongest one I've encountered thus far! What is it?"

"It's a brew that these people make," Mustadio replied taking the flask as Orlandu passed it back to him. "It's called paqwan. It's somewhat like gin but pleasantly smoother." The Engineer then took a drink from the flask, smacking his lips afterwards in satisfaction, before passing it back to Orlandu who gladly accepted it.

He felt the paqwan warming him as he drank, relaxing his muscles, smiling at the dancing youth. He chuckled as the flask returned to his hands once again, and drank eagerly. The moon seemed brighter, the stars more brilliant, the sky even wider than over his home in Zeltennia. He had camped many times before but only now noticed these things. He beamed at Mustadio and said, "We have come to a good place."

Mustadio nodded and said, "Yes." Both men watched as a few young men and women eagerly joined the youths in their dance, their slightly larger forms as graceful as their youthful counterparts.

"How did you know about this place?" the Engineer asked curiously after a few moments.

"I didn't," Orlandu replied. "I was only aware of the old village that I had visited once on a campaign during the Fifty Year War, which I later discovered was burned down. Then after meeting with Rafa and Malak, I soon learned that they were survivors from that very same village and hearing that they would return to rebuild it, I assumed it would be the burned down village. I never knew that they would move further deeper into the mountains. A wise move. The Church will not find us here. We are safe, _truly_ safe."

Mustadio quickly swallowed a mouthful of paqwan, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. "That's true," he agreed afterwards. "But you sound as if we'll be staying here for a very long time."

The old knight sighed, taking the flask from Mustadio's proffered hands. He took a long draft, hoping that the drink would cloud his mind and wash away his doubts and fears. But those feelings remained as the paqwan went down. He glared at the flask as if it had betrayed him, happy to be rid of it when Mustadio relieved it from his hand.

"I have a feeling," the old knight began softly, "we will be staying here for a while _after_ we fulfill Meliadoul's dying wish. And to do that we must have Agrias. She knows Lesalia better than any one of us save perhaps Lavian and Alicia."

Mustadio nodded in understanding. "So we'll be rescuing Agrias then," he stated thoughtfully. "Where is she held?"

"According to Lavian and Alicia, she is being held in nearby Fort Zeakden," answered the old knight. He then stood up and stretched, wincing as old bones cracked at the movement. "I guess I'm not as young as I thought," he groaned.

"Where are you going?" Mustadio asked, surprised to see Orlandu leaving.

"To my lodge," the old knight grunted over his shoulder. "I'm weary from the journey and I would very much like to find my bed." He then left muttering under his breath, "Youth!"

Mustadio watched him leave, the thought of accompanying him flitting across his mind. He noted with worry that the old knight walked slowly, his shoulders hunched as if he carried a great burden. Perhaps he did for they looked up to him as their leader in this time of struggle, bearing the mantle that Ramza had worn during the Lion War.

Orlandu, the great "T.G. Cid", had led vast armies across numerous battlefields but none were as difficult as leading this small rabble across a different kind of battlefield—a battlefield full of lies, deception, and hate.

Mustadio could see that this battle was taking its toll on the grizzled warrior. It was only a matter of time before he would be crushed under the burden. He sighed as he finished up the flask, looking up at the stars as he wondered where the Beoulve siblings had gone especially Ramza whose leadership skills were sorely needed.

_Where are you, Ramza?_, he pondered. _We all could use your help right about now..._

* * *

The next few days after the celebration, Orlandu spoke with Malak about the happenings in Ivalice. As both men sat in the shade of Malak's lodgeflap, Rafa sat with Reis, Lavian, and Alicia, teaching them how to work a behemoth hide smooth. She was quite at home here in the middle of the wilderness and would help her friends adapt to their lifestyle, which was very different from the civilized world called Ivalice.

"Our ancestors lived this way," Rafa explained as she worked the scraper firmly over the tough skin. "They lived far closer to the world they inhabited, living with nature rather than imposing their will on absolute forces. It had always been their way, but they lost their way when foreigners began arriving from both the east and west. They quickly conformed to the foreigners' ways, their ways lost for a long period of time until now..."

"That story sounds familiar," Lavian mused, tapping her chin in thought. "I think I've read it somewhere before... Wait!" she suddenly exclaimed, her eyes lighting up in remembrance. "I read it in a history text. Long before Ivalice, long before even the seven kingdoms existed, there lived a race that was native to this land. They were called Ta'o. According to the text, they lived a similar life like your ancestors. Are they one and the same?"

"The name is forgotten but I would assume so," Rafa guessed, still working the scraper.

"Well, I'd say it's better to live here than in a town," Reis stated happily. "It reminds me of the time we lived in Mount Randoria. I feel entirely at home here."

"It seems you're not the only one," Alicia added as she glanced at the child playing busily with the wooden spinning top one of the children had gifted him during the celebration. Dressed in jacket and breeches of soft panther fur, he resembled a small cat.

Draco was a sturdy child, whose customary expression was a broad smile. He favored his father in looks, and if he inherited any of his fighting skills still yet remained to be seen. If he did, however, he would give new meaning to the term dragon knight. She had heard the story soon enough, of how Draco had healed a wounded dragon when he was only two years old. Fortunately, it was a baby dragon but still it showed that he possessed the talent of handling these fearsome beasts. And did he possess his father's skills as well, he would become a formidable knight indeed.

Reis saw the direction of her glance and called out to her son, who came trotting to her, holding up his toy as if for inspection. Reis planted a kiss atop his head and he abruptly sat down, cooing with delight. Alicia caught the mother's eye and Reis offered her a smile happy as her son's. It painfully reminded Alicia of the times Agrias had spent with Ramia.

"We'll get her back," Lavian stated knowingly, placing a comforting hand on the redhead's shoulder.

"I know," Alicia sighed, "but when? Fort Zeakden is probably only a couple days journey from here and yet we stay here and do nothing but sit around and talk!"

"This is no easy task for Orlandu," Reis said calmly. Being quite the observer, she had taken note of the subtle changes in the old knight's appearance. Orlandu appeared to have aged ahead of his time as if the role of leadership sapped him of his vigor. The type of battle they fought now was very foreign to the wise and experienced knight and perhaps that's the reason why he was struggling.

The object of her thoughts appeared then, his wizened face set solemn, as Malak's smile of greeting was somewhat strained. Orlandu squatted, opening his arms to Draco, who ran smiling toward him. He picked up the child and held him high, Draco laughing all the while as Orlandu studied his round face as if seeking answers there.

He set Draco down and said, "We have come to a decision."

"On what?" Alicia was suddenly hopeful.

"To help you," Malak simply replied. "Orlandu has explained the circumstances surrounding the Church and I would very much aid you in any way I can."

"And since most of us are gathered," Orlandu added, "we can penetrate Fort Zeakden and rescue Agrias. Afterwards, we would go to Lesalia and fulfill Meliadoul's last wish." He then looked around seeing some of their number was missing. "Where are the others?"

"Beowulf and Rad went hunting," Rafa told them. "Mustadio is with his father in their lodge."

"Can you fetch Mustadio, Rafa?" Malak instructed kindly to his sister. "And afterwards, I would like to speak with you."

Rafa nodded, setting the scraper and behemoth hide down, before running off to the Bunanzas' lodge. She later returned with the young Engineer, who met with Orlandu's group, as Rafa was pulled to the side by her brother.

"Rafa," he spoke gravely, "I need you to take care of the village while I'm away."

"You're going with them?" his sister questioned in earnest.

"Yes," Malak nodded. "There's a trail through the mountains that would take us closer to Fort Zeakden, cutting our journey by a day. I must lead them or risk them being lost in the mountains forever. So, would you take care of the village for me?"

Rafa sighed. In truth, she really wanted to join her friends but knew that as a Galthana, she has a duty to their people. She then nodded and said, "As you will." And then could not resist adding, "But be careful."

Malak chuckled and said, "What harm can come me when I'm surrounded by friends who would protect me as I would protect them?" He turned to see Orlandu and the others had dispersed, with the exception of Reis and Draco, to prepare for the journey. "I must be going," he told Rafa as he walked to their lodge.

"You're leaving?" Rafa asked in shock as she ran to catch up with her brother. "This soon?"

"This is not a thing that can wait according to Orlandu," her brother replied solemnly. "No matter. Just tell the others, when they return, where we have gone." With that being his last instruction to his sister, Malak entered the lodge to gather up those things he'd need for the trip; a couple of potions, some rations, his gear, and his Octagon Rod for protection against the wild beasts that roamed in the mountains. Water was plentiful; there were springs in some of the mountain caves where they would camp when night fell.

Seeing that everything was packed, he left the lodge. The group had gathered, ready for the journey ahead. He soon realized that they waited on him and so he nodded, leading them away from the camp, following the river that flowed from the nearby mountains, but first they would have to cross the forest before them...

* * *

Malak walked ahead of the group, always scouting the area for hidden predators. He discerned the signs the forest gave him; the faint paw prints on the forest floor, the rustle of leaves as a roosting hawk flew from one branch to another, and the smell of dead uribos indicating that a band of goblins was close by. He also discerned the true from the false as Mustadio soon learned when he was about to lean on a tree to rest.

"No!" Malak shouted in alarm. "That's a—"

But it was too late. The tree suddenly animated, thwacking Mustadio on the head with a branch. Malak quickly disposed of the woodman with a few choice hits from his rod. "You all right?" he asked afterwards as he helped Mustadio up.

"I guess," the Engineer grumbled, still rubbing his sore head. "Why didn't you warn me about those things?"

"I tried," the Hell Knight said. "You must be very careful here in the forest. There are many hidden dangers that an ordinary traveler will usually fall victim to." He then gazed at the others and added, "That goes for all of you as well. Stay close, do as I say, and you'll be fine." He then smiled at Mustadio, patting his shoulder lightly, before resuming point.

From that moment on, there were no more incidents, the group arriving safely at the foot of the trail a few hours later. They rested awhile, stretching weary muscles and rubbing sore feet. Malak disappeared saying that he would scout ahead to see what was the best course to take through the mountains. He later returned and suggested that they travel now when there was still light.

"You don't want to be caught up in the mountains at night," he explained. "There are more fearsome creatures than goblins and panthers that walk the night." He then beckoned them to start climbing as he led the group once more.

Peaks thrust ever upward towards the sky from both sides of the narrow trail, their tops glistening white in the afternoon rays of the sun. Malak scouted ahead, his form quickly lost amid all the rocks only to reappear again at a higher ledge where he looked ahead, shouting to the group below him whenever there was danger ahead in the path. He would then divert them to another route he had seen, avoiding the danger, quickly continuing their journey.

Soon the light began to fade and with it the day. Malak, ever the pioneer, searched for a cave they could rest in, where they could safely build a fire and escape the chill winds that were beginning to blow. He found such a place just ahead on the path.

The group climbed until the path gave out on a wide ledge like a shelf between the peaks. They bulked overhead, the sun lighting them like fire, all orange and red, with a cold wind blowing from between them as if in protestation. Malak then led them to an opening in the rocks where they could build a fire from the gnarly shrubs that grew there. They ate a little then, Malak and Mustadio going to a small creek to gather some water that they passed out among the group at their return.

They soon settled down to sleep, each agreeing to take a turn in the night watch with Orlandu being the first, who doused the fire and stood at the mouth of the cave vigilantly.

* * *

The night passed without incident and the group resumed their journey along the trail with Malak leading them once again. Lavian realized that they were traveling downslope now. Hawks wheeled overhead; behind them, wild wolves watched from ledges as if marveling at the bravado of the group, and once as they continued downward, a cuar snarled protestingly from the shelter of a nook.

Malak did not hesitate. It was as if he read the land easily as Lavian might read a book. She was amazed that the Hell Knight had mastered the tracker's art, a valuable art to possess when one scouts. She had learned somewhat of the art—Alicia as well—for they would sometimes go on reconnaissance trips, but the signs Malak spotted were invisible to her.

"We're close," Malak suddenly announced when they reached a ridge overlooking the land below them. "See?" He pointed to a hint of a tall structure shrouded by the snow that constantly fell around the region.

Orlandu studied the area, pulling the hood of his cloak closer around his face. The winds were becoming colder than those they had encountered on the trail, reminding that they were to soon enter a region of perpetual snow. He did not want to stay very long, lest risk losing someone in the freezing climate. "How long will it take us to reach the fort?" he asked Malak.

"If we travel swiftly, we'll reach the fort by nightfall," the Hell Knight replied.

"Then let's make haste," the old knight instructed, motioning to Malak to continue leading them.

They wound their way down the steep and slippery path of the ridge to the base. The winds blew harsher as they descended, threatening to knock them over the edge. After an hour, they had reached the bottom and were forced to pave their path across the snow as the sun set slowly behind the mountains that they had just crossed.

As Malak had predicted, it took them the rest of the day to traverse the snow-covered plain. Pale moonlight illuminated their surroundings, the snow softly glowing beneath its light, the fortress standing in dark contrast to its surroundings. The group could hear the waves of Larner Channel crash against the cliffs on which the fortress stood as the winds howled around them.

They approached the structure warily, careful as not to raise an alarm among the people that could be residing within. Orlandu looked at the fortress suspiciously as they got closer, not from fear of detection but from fear that the building was empty. From what he gathered from Lavian and Alicia, Fort Zeakden was being rebuilt, therefore, the structure incomplete. But the building looked complete, its walls standing twenty feet high, its smooth surface interrupted by embrasures cut at intervals from which the mouths of cannons and archers could fire their projectiles at invading enemies. No standard hung on the walls, which means that the fortress wasn't manned with soldiers.

But was it occupied by someone else? There was only one way to find out.

"Split up and search the fortress quickly and silently," Orlandu ordered softly. They agreed, splitting into teams of two. Lavian and Alicia went to search the stables and the storehouses as Malak and Mustadio went to search the barracks. Orlandu went alone to search the dungeons that were beneath the fortress.

Alicia carefully opened the door to the stables while Lavian prepared a sleep spell that would render the great birds unconscious, but they found the building empty save for a few pieces of greens. A bit shocked, they left the stables for the storehouses and found them to be devoid of anything except for some snow that somewhat had entered through the gap between door and ground.

They left their area of investigation puzzled by the results. They headed towards the front of the fortress where they found Orlandu, his face a mask of worry. "What's wrong?" Lavian asked the old knight. "Found anything?"

"Nothing," Orlandu replied as he shook his head, "but some empty chains." He tapped his chin in thought as he muttered darkly, "Perhaps it's as I feared..."

Lavian was about to question what he meant by that comment but was suddenly interrupted by a yell.

"Gone!" Malak shouted as he and Mustadio returned from their search of the barracks. "They're gone!"

"What do you mean they're gone?" Alicia demanded of the Hell Knight.

"It's as I feared," Orlandu stated calmly and the knight maiden turned towards him and demanded that he explain what he meant. "The fortress is complete," he clarified. "They must have moved on to another ruin."

"Then that means..." Lavian whispered dismally, her voice trailing off, unable to voice the rest of her thought.

"Yes," Orlandu nodded sadly. "That we're too late..."


	10. Honored Vow

**Chapter Nine: Honored Vow**

"Curse those heretics!" Jaren shouted as he slammed his goblet of wine against his wooden desk, the dark liquid spilling over his thin fingers. Tomas, who had recently returned from his excursion, flinched at his superior's outburst.

"I had them within my grasp!" the priest continued his tirade as he angrily began pacing around the study, enraged by the report he had heard from the Shrine Knight that had survived the assault at Orbonne.

According to the report, they had followed his instructions fully, killing the heretical Divine Knight as they tried to capture her friends. But they had failed and now all of them were dead except for the lone survivor who was near death himself when he had arrived to deliver the report.

"Now they're gone who-knows-where and my only link to them is dead!" he finished, slapping both hands on top of his desk, the motion settling the objects on top to rattling and his goblet to tipping over, spilling the rest of the wine across the wooden surface.

Tomas watched silently as Jaren breathed in hard, angry gasps, clutching the table until his knuckles turned white. After a few moments, his gasps softened as he calmed down. He then turned towards Tomas, who was standing by the glowing hearth, the fire illuminating the study in a dull light. "What should I do now, Tomas?" he asked the Divine Knight. "Now that all of my efforts in this hunt have failed?"

"I wouldn't exactly say that it has failed, Milord," Tomas reassured his superior. "You're just experiencing a minor setback."

"Minor? _Minor?_" Jaren exclaimed furiously. "How can you call it a _minor_ setback? Only one heretic has been captured during my long stay here in Lesalia! Even with the huge rewards and the new laws, they still manage to elude arrest!"

"Perhaps you've been going about it the wrong way," the Divine Knight suggested.

The priest seemed attentive at that one remark. He slowly resumed his seat behind his desk, uncaring for the puddle of spilled liquid on the surface, as he propped his elbows atop, folding his hands beneath his chin. "Explain," he prompted the Divine Knight.

Tomas walked towards the desk to face the priest. "What I mean, Milord," he began, "is that you've been hoping that the search parties you send out and the people of Ivalice would find these heretics for you. You search, they hide. It is as simple as that. I don't mean to say that it's wrong, but it hasn't yielded much of a result."

"So what do you suggest I do?" Jaren inquired eager to hear his aide's opinion.

"Instead of going to them, why don't you make them come to us?" Tomas proposed. "It will save us a lot of our resources."

Jaren nodded in agreement, but he was still a bit skeptical. "How would you suggest we do this?" he asked.

"We already have the bait," Tomas replied. "All we need is to set the trap."

Jaren tapped his chin in thought. "Go on," he prompted with a wave of his hand.

The Divine Knight nodded. "The bait I was referring to," he began as he slowly walked around the room, "is the family that harbored Lady Tingel." He paused briefly in reflection of that name. Though he didn't personally know Meliadoul Tingel, her family was respected in Murond—still is despite the fact that the daughter of their leader had betrayed them. It's a shame that she was dead. He would like to have known her better.

"Yes," Jaren muttered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Lady Tingel... A pity that I decided to kill her. A mistake I tend to overlook. Now, as you were saying, Tomas...?"

The Divine Knight stood at a window overlooking the courtyard where two huge braziers blazed on either side, illuminating the quad as soldiers from Lesalia's garrison gathered to hone their skills. "I'm certain that the heretics will come to rescue this family," he continued as he watched two knights spar in the middle of the square.

"Are you sure?" Jaren asked doubtfully as he stared at the back of his aide. "How would they know about them?"

Tomas chuckled then, light as the wind. He then turned to face Jaren once more wearing a cocky grin. "We knights do not die so easily, Cardinal," he stated proudly, "as you should have seen when that Shrine Knight came to report. Near death himself, he still managed to travel here and recount what had happened in Orbonne. Fortunately, he lived unlike our 'ace'."

The priest nodded in understanding, knowing that he referred to Lady Tingel. "So, they will come and rescue the family..." He then smirked as he inquired, "How shall we greet them?"

* * *

Orlandu and the others came back to the valley in slow procession, a ragged bunch, their faces full of unbearable sorrow, testament of the remorse they felt when they found the fort empty. Their journey back home was a thing of funerals, of walking in solemn silence with heads bowed low as tears were quietly shed until familiar shouts rang loud all about and familiar faces came to greet them. There was Rafa followed by Beowulf with Rad helping Besrodio behind; then Reis carrying Draco.

Who said, "You have not brought her."

Orlandu said, "Yes. There is much to tell."

And Reis nodded as if she understood it all, and said, "But first, rest. All of you must be weary from the journey."

The old knight was about to object, but saw that the Dragoner was right when he looked at his companions especially at the two knight maidens. Both women looked detach from their surroundings, their eyes blank. They were shattered, he knew, drained emotionally by the loss. They had hoped that they would return with Agrias, but their hopes fell like a bird shot in flight.

Lavian and Alicia quietly excused themselves from the group, heading straight for the lodge they shared.

Orlandu nodded wearily in agreement to Reis' suggestion. "We could all use the rest. God knows, it's been a difficult journey especially for those two." He motioned towards the knight maidens who had disappeared into their lodge. Malak and Mustadio agreed and all went to their respective lodges. Orlandu would decide when they would meet to discuss plans of liberating Meliadoul's 'family'.

For now, it was a time of healing for not long ago they had suffered the pain of Meliadoul's death. The loss of Agrias was a new wound upon the old that had not yet fully healed, festering the pain in their hearts.

How much more must they suffer before those wounds would heal?

* * *

Beowulf yawned and stretched as he exited his lodge, ready to begin a new day. It's been three days since Orlandu and the others had returned from that failed journey. Lavian and Alicia had not spoken much since then, concealed within their lodge most of the time. The others let them be, recognizing their wish to be alone and wondering if they would ever recover from the experience of the journey.

The former Temple Knight sighed as he bent down to pick up a wooden spear leaning against the side of his lodge. As he was about to wrap his fingers around the shaft, he stopped upon hearing a most curious noise. It sounded like someone was having an argument.

He looked up in curiosity just in time to see Alicia riding off on her chocobo in full battle harness with Lavian futilely chasing her on foot, screaming, "Wait, Alicia! Somebody stop her!"

Knowing to act now and ask questions later, Beowulf grabbed his spear and began chasing Alicia, hoping to intercept her path. Being a little taller than Lavian, he managed to shorten the gap between himself and the chocobo, but he was not fast enough to close the distance. He was aware of that simple fact and so had another plan in mind.

Maintaining a steady pace, he held his spear high in one hand. Keeping his course in parallel with Alicia, he made a few quick calculations before throwing his weapon, his aim true, catching between the chocobo's feet.

The chocobo warked as it went down on its knees, pitching Alicia over its head so that she cried out as she struck the soft earth. She stumbled to her feet and began to run in a desperate pace as if she was again being chased by the mercenaries and knights that had hunted her back in Doguola Pass.

"Alicia, stop!" Beowulf continued to run after her, but he began to lag behind, his initial chase having drained him. Breathless, he fell to his knees gasping as Alicia continued to run away. It seemed that she would successfully escape the valley unhindered, but she was soon stopped by one of the villagers.

Curious men and wondering women gathered when they had heard the disturbance. As Beowulf tried to catch his breath, he watched in amazement as one of the villagers—the one that he had seen talking to Agrias' chocobo—galloped past on the same chocobo. He rode without saddle nor did he guide the chocobo with reins but with his knees alone, swinging some sort of rope with weights attached to the ends above his head as he closed on the fleeing knight maiden.

Despite running in heavy armor, Alicia did not seem to tire, maintaining the same desperate pace as if some vast and undeniable energy fueled her and drove her on like a chip of metal drawn to a lodestone. Regardless of her speed, the chocobo and its rider quickly closed the distance between them. Seeing that he was close enough, the rider let loose the rope that he had been swinging at Alicia, the coil entangling the knight maiden's legs, so that she fell over.

The villager sprang from the chocobo as it still ran, landing loose with a small pouch in his hand, that he opened and poured its contents—a powder—over the struggling Alicia, who fell silent as the powder took effect.

After catching his breath, Beowulf joined the man followed close by Lavian, Orlandu and Malak not far behind. "What did you do to her?" he asked.

"Sleeping powder," the man replied holding up the pouch, "to calm her madness."

"I knew she was crazy to go off alone to Lesalia, but to say that she lost her mind..." Lavian shook her head at the absurd thought. "That's nonsense!" she firmly denied. "She couldn't possibly—!"

Malak shook his head. "It's no use arguing with Wolfen, Lavian. He knows what he's talking about. If he says that Alicia is mad, then she is mad."

"_You're_ mad for saying that she's mad!" she exclaimed angrily, pointing an accusing finger at Malak. "How could you say such a thing about your friend? And you!" she added as she whirled about to face Wolfen. "How dare you claim such a thing without providing as much as an explanation!"

The tall young man whose black hair was unbound, his features aquiline and somewhat stern until he smiled, stroked the chocobo he rode as he began to explain in a patient tone: "Chocobos possess an uncanny ability to sense the feelings of others. I did not know your friend was mad, but this chocobo told me and asked me to help her."

"_Told_ you?" reiterated Beowulf curiously. "You can understand what they are saying?"

"Yes," Wolfen nodded as he continued to stroke the chocobo's neck.

"Wolfen is one of the few that possess the gift of animal tongue," Malak explained, "one of the gifts thought lost to our people. It is one of the skills our people possess such as my Hell skill and Rafa's Heaven skill. There are also those who are dreamers, people who possess the ability to dream possible futures and danger though I'm afraid that talent is lost to us."

Wolfen nodded then said, "Now if you'll excuse me, this chocobo is tired from the run and wishes to rest." He led the chocobo away, but then stopped. "Your friend will be fine once she wakes up," he told them over his shoulder before fully taking his leave of the group, still stroking the chocobo's neck.

The group watched him go before turning to each other. "He means well," Malak said, trying to ease the anxiety that came from the incident.

"I know he does," Orlandu agreed, "and I thank him for it though I'm not sure Lavian appreciates it." He turned to see the knight maiden glaring heatedly at the departing man's back. "Lavian," he called her and she turned her head to look at him. "I need to speak with you."

"But...Alicia..." Lavian began softly.

"Will be taken care of," Orlandu finished reassuringly. He then ordered Beowulf to carry Alicia back to her lodge and Malak to inform the others of what has happened. Then with a smile, he beckoned Lavian to walk with him for now it was imperative that he knew what agency had possessed Alicia to attempt riding off to Lesalia alone. Lavian matched her stride to the old knight's as they trod the grassy terrain of the valley.

The crowd that had gathered in curiosity began to disperse, returning to their previous tasks, seeing that the commotion has resolved. Lavian felt a little uneasy as she walked with Orlandu, the old knight remaining strangely quiet, nearly crying out in surprise when he spoke.

"Lavian," he began in a grave tone, "tell me, how did you feel when we returned from Fort Zeakden three days ago?"

The brunette was stunned by the question and needed some time to gather her thoughts before replying. "Well..." she began softly after a few seconds of reflective silence, "sad, I suppose, and angry."

Orlandu nodded. "Did Alicia feel the same?"

Lavian shrugged and said, "I would assume so. It wasn't the first time we tried rescuing Lady Agrias."

The old knight nodded again, remembering the story of their failed attempt at Yardow. "Anger is such a powerful emotion," he said somberly. "It fuels one's strength yet blinds them to danger."

"Orlandu?" inquired the knight maiden, unsure of what the old knight was saying.

Orlandu stopped and turned to look at Lavian gravely like a father about to impart some words of wisdom to his daughter. "Listen, Lavian," he began. "It's hard to deal with failure, I know. I've had my share of shortcomings as well, but the key to overcoming them is to not lose hope, to keep a clear mind in the face of adversity."

He then smiled. "You must not lose faith, Lavian. Keep your spirits high and exercise patience. One day we will see Agrias again. Understand?"

"Yes," the brunette nodded then smiled as well, the weight she had felt in her heart for the past three days suddenly lifted. "Thank you. I wish Alicia could have heard your words of wisdom."

"She shall hear it soon enough," said the old knight, "though not from me. When she awakes, tell her what I've said and once she understands, both of you come see me. I have some important things to discuss with you. I think it's time for at least one rescue attempt to be successful."

"You mean?" Lavian asked expectantly, her gray eyes shining with anticipation.

"Yes," Orlandu nodded. "It's time we paid the Imperial Capital a visit."

* * *

"I've never seen such riding," Beowulf remarked to Malak as he fletched an arrow he had recently fashioned from a branch. "And what was that weapon he used to entangle Alicia's legs? It could be quite effective in a battle."

Malak shrugged. "I honestly don't know. That's the first time I've ever seen it. I wish I knew about it though. It would make hunting a lot easier."

"And not as challenging," Rad added with a grin.

"True," Malak nodded.

Aside from the little incident in the morning, the day was like any other. The sun illumined the grass and the lodges, light streaming radiant over the camp; the sky a pure blue striped with windblown ribbons of high white cloud. All around, the great camp went about its daily business; women gathered berries as they gossiped while men waxed bowstrings and sharpened knives; children called to one another, their laughter filling the air, carried by the current of the wind that rustled the surrounding grass. One could easily forget their troubles in such a soothing atmosphere.

And the men nearly did until Reis chided, "How could you talk so casually about such things when one of your friends may be sick in the mind?"

"She'll be fine," Malak reassured the Dragoner. "Wolfen is true to his word when he said that she'll be fine when she wakes up. Right, Rafa?" He looked to his sister, in turn, earning a nod from her.

"But I wonder what compelled her to go to Lesalia alone," Beowulf voiced thoughtfully. "The way she was running seemed that her mission was urgent."

"Anger," Orlandu, who had been sitting with them and listening in on their conversation, replied simply. "Alicia let her anger take control of her, thus becoming mad."

"She should have told us that she wanted to go to Lesalia," Mustadio said.

"Sometimes pride gets in the way of our better judgment," Orlandu responded sagely before waving a dismissive hand. "But what does it matter? What matters now is that she has calmed down and now we can concentrate on actually going to Lesalia. It's time we fulfilled Meliadoul's last wish."

"Yes," Rad agreed solemnly, his answer echoed by the others.

"Very well," Orlandu nodded. "As soon as I speak with Lavian and Alicia, we'll depart for the Imperial Capital."

* * *

Alicia sat on her chocobo uncomfortably, the constant stares she received from her companions unnerving her as they traveled the same path they used to reach Malak's village. She did her best to ignore their looks, fixing her face in what she hoped to be a solemn expression, trying to hide the doubts and fears that floated around her mind.

Her companions surrounded her as if they were afraid that she would run away. They moved in a moderate pace set by Orlandu who walked at the head of the group. Rad walked along her right, constantly fingering the hilt of his sword nervously as Mustadio walked along her left gazing at the trees with fascination as if it was the first time he saw them. Malak and Beowulf kept Orlandu company while Lavian rode behind the rest of the group on her chocobo. Rafa and Reis remained at the village at the request of Malak and Beowulf.

None of them wore the trappings of their former lives, only the leather jerkins and breeches characteristic of the people of the valley. If it weren't for the weapons they carried, one would think that they were a hunting party. But Alicia knew better much to her chagrin.

Lavian and Orlandu had spoken at length to her once she had awaken from what she thought was a dream. She soon learned, however, that it wasn't a dream, feeling guilty afterwards for acting such a fool. She sighed at the thought, which brought Rad's head around, the knight's eyes filled with concern.

"Are you..." Rad hesitated. Ever since the incident, he could not be sure of the knight maiden who had fiercely defeated her enemies with the ferocity of a red dragon.

Alicia turned and smiled. "I'm fine," she said. "Don't worry."

Rad shrugged as he turned again to the fore. "After a few days, we'll reach Lesalia."

"Yes." Alicia ducked her head in response. "I know," she added melancholy.

Lesalia. The place where past kings and queens ruled Ivalice, where knights such as herself served the throne. The place where she and Lavian had witnessed the rift of mother and child and the beginning of their woes. She knew that one day they would return to that land, but not like this.

It was sad knowing that they come like thieves in the night upon their own home, which they had entered so casually before. Alicia felt her fears and doubts creeping behind her like a shadow, filling her with uncertainty for what awaited her in Lesalia. She no longer felt confident of herself, afraid that she would go mad again once they reached the Imperial Capital. Such feelings were unbecoming of her but, in light of that incident, she could not help but wonder...

* * *

Tomas walked along the city walls of Lesalia inspecting its physical defenses and the guards that he had doubled on Jaren's command. He stared out into the surrounding countryside, lit softly by the waning moon that hung among the stars. He could hear the grass rustle as a chill wind blew, gusting about the crenellations of the wall, strong enough to set the torches and braziers mounted along the ramparts of Lesalia to flickering. It was cold enough to prompt him to draw the cowl of his cloak tighter about his head.

He never felt such a wind especially during this time of the year when the days are long and the weather dry. It felt like a precursor of things to come, a warning to be on guard. Tomas pushed such notions aside, ascribing them to be nothing more than superstitions, as he walked to the nearest watch station.

Two sentries stood patiently beside a brazier, their armor glowing softly in the light of the flames. They came to attention as he approached, saluting, and he greeted them with a smile asking, "How goes the watch?"

"Nothing unusual to report, Sir Tomas," the one he remembered called Damien responded. "All is well."

"As it has been for the past week and a half," ventured the other, whose name Tomas thought was Garr. "Are you sure that they will come?"

Tomas nodded and said, "My life on it."

"Yours or Father Jaren's?" Damien asked.

"What do you mean?" Tomas demanded, hearing the note of sarcasm in the man's voice.

"Folk have been talking..." Damien shrugged, his red cape rustling as his shoulders moved, "...about you and Father Jaren."

Tomas stared at him, studying his face in the glow of the brazier, seeing hard-etched surfaces, a beard in which gray showed, knowing him now for an experienced warrior long-used to night watches. He was not, the Divine Knight knew, a man given to questioning orders, yet now he could see something close to that in the knight's eyes.

"What do they say?" he questioned. And thought to add, "This shall go no farther."

"The people," Damien gestured at the buildings below them, the motion of his hand continuing to encompass the palace and the surrounding countryside, "fear us. They claim Father Jaren a tyrant and you..." He broke off, shaking his head.

Tomas said, "Go on."

Damien stared at the Divine Knight, then licked his lips before he said, "The priest's dog."

Tomas stifled the sigh that threatened to escape his guard. He had been afraid of this, the mood of discontent and resentment of Jaren and his regime, of which he was considered a part, felt as he had traversed the continent.

What else could he do? Murond, the Church, vested command in Jaren and gave Tomas orders to obey. And was he not a faithful knight of the Church? Save... He pushed such thoughts aside. Now was not the time to consider them for it was imperative that he continued his watch.

With a nod, he said, "Thank you for your honesty. I must continue my own watch. Be vigilant."

"Yes," promised Damien, echoed by Garr. "That we will, Sir Tomas."

Tomas gave them a curt salute before proceeding along the wall toward the glow that marked the position of the next watch station, mulling over the conversation he had with his knights. He could not help but wonder if they were doing the right thing in this search...

* * *

After four days of traveling, the troupe finally reached the land surrounding the Imperial Capital. They moved cautiously through the tall grass, lying flat on the ground whenever they sight someone approaching. It was difficult to hide for the sun still shone, slowly making its way down towards the western horizon.

Fortunately, their perseverance was rewarded when they found a stand of hickory as they crested a hill. They welcomed the shelter of the tall, shag-barked trees, glad to be able to rest without being seen.

Seeing that Lesalia was in plain sight, Orlandu ordered Mustadio to climb one of the trees and survey the city with his spyglass. The Engineer nodded, clambering up a tree as easily as a squirrel. He settled himself on a sturdy branch, leaning against the trunk for support, as he took out his tool and peered into it.

"What do you see?" Lavian yelled up to him, curious to know what changes may have occurred during her self-imposed exile.

"I think they're expecting us," Mustadio replied as he scanned the city before jumping down to make a full report. "Knights patrol the walls and the streets and the gates are watched closely. The only way I can see of passing undetected is to be invisible."

"Then we'll be invisible," Alicia said as she joined their conversation.

"How?" the Engineer asked doubtfully, the knight maiden claiming the impossible, wondering if she become mad once more.

Alicia saw the dubious looks on their faces, in turn, feeling her own confidence wane. But she went on unperturbed, determined to not let that one incident come in between their mission. "Listen and you shall understand..."

* * *

The moon rose thin above the trees, a slender crescent, its light not as bright as those braziers and torches burning along the walls of Lesalia. Nor could its light penetrate beneath Lesalia's streets.

Mustadio nearly cried out when he felt something scurry across his feet. He had regretted asking how they would be invisible to the guards patrolling the streets above as they—minus Malak, who had stayed behind at the hickory grove to watch the knight maidens' mounts—traveled through Lesalia's sewers with Lavian leading them through the murk, Orlandu walking behind with a torch held in his hand revealing their surroundings.

The underground mines in Goug seemed a paradise compared to the muck of the underground sewers in Lesalia. Grime covered the stone walls and who-knows-what floated in the water that flowed between the causeways. The stench was tolerable but the creatures that Mustadio heard scurrying about grated on his nerves. "Are we almost there?" he whispered anxiously, afraid that if he spoke any louder the guards would hear him.

"The city is huge and we just entered the sewers," Lavian elaborated. "We're not even halfway there yet."

The Engineer sighed as he continued to trudge along the murky path. It seemed they walk in circles, their surroundings never changing, the walls all looking exactly the same. They turned at corners and hopped across causeways. They even plodded through the soiled water when no path presented itself. Disgusted by their current route, Mustadio wondered if there had been a better way across the city. Little did he know, their path was about to get worse.

"Just beyond this wall are the dungeons," Lavian declared when they had reached what seemed to be a dead end. "Water flows there through a channel beneath this wall, which we can use to reach it."

Mustadio couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Are you suggesting we _swim_ in this muck?"

"I'm afraid so," said the knight maiden. "It's the most direct route...and the most unpleasant."

"Nevertheless, it's the only choice we have," Orlandu added reluctantly.

Lavian nodded and before Mustadio had a chance to protest, she took a deep breath and disappeared into the murky depths. He then watched as Beowulf, Alicia, and Rad followed her example, disappearing into the water after her.

The Engineer suppressed another sigh, taking a deep breath, plunging into the water afterwards with his eyes closed. He then groped his way around blindly until he felt someone pull him out of the water.

"Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" Rad asked with a grin as Mustadio gasped lungfuls of air. Orlandu soon emerged after and the group dried themselves as best they could before moving deeper into the dungeons with Lavian leading them once more.

The dungeons was a gloomy place full of criminals that may never see the light of day. Fortunately, the troupe did not encounter any such prisoners, as they traversed the poorly lit corridors, the light throwing eerie shadows among the walls. Cells that were normally filled were now empty and the knight maidens believe it to be the work of Jaren. Nonetheless, there were still a few prisoners that remained and fortunately, all were asleep. They didn't have to worry about them raising an alarm and dealing with the guards would be no problem since they tend to neglect their duties, but finding the family soon proved to be difficult.

None knew them; knew what they looked like or what their names are. The only way of identifying them was to hope to see a child among the prisoners. The labyrinthine corridors of the prison were numerous and their time limited. However, they were saved the trouble of searching when they arrived at a heavily guarded corridor.

The passage was filled with an assortment of knights, most lounging around as flasks of—what Lavian assumed was ale—were passed among them, their laughter echoing loudly in the halls. Only two stood by the cell at the end of the passageway and they too were as lax in their duties as their howling comrades.

Lavian grinned at their laziness. "Easy enough," she claimed softly to the group. "All I need do is put them to sleep and that won't be hard to do seeing how drunk they are." She then began whispering the words to the spell:

"Lose conscious, wash away into the silent sea... Sleep!"

A soft mist appeared above the group of knights, slowly descending until it enveloped them in its quiet grasp. Their hooting slowly ceased replaced by the roar of their snores as the spell worked its magic, their bodies slumping against the walls in slumber.

"Nice work, Lavian," Beowulf applauded as he patted the knight maiden's shoulder. "Now let's see who they were guarding."

As the group made their way carefully among the sleeping knights since a slight nudge could awaken them from the spell, one of the prisoners in the guarded cell became aware of their approach and went up to the bars demanding in a voice filled with renewed hope, "Who are you? Did Meliadoul sent you?"

"Yes," the oldest member of the group replied when he reached the cell and began examining the lock. He then called over his shoulder, "Rad!" The prisoner watched as a young man with disheveled brown hair came forward in answer to the old one's summoning. "Can you pick this lock?" the old one asked him.

"The keys are over there," the prisoner said before the one called Rad could reply, as he pointed to a ring of keys that were hanging from a rusty nail to the side of the cell door. Both men turned to see that the prisoner spoke the truth. Rad went to fetch the keys, soon returning, fitting each key on the ring to the lock.

As he continued with his task, the prisoner questioned the old one. "Where's Meliadoul? How is she?"

"There's time enough to answer those questions after we get you out of here and into a safe place," the old one replied. He then saw a woman and a boy emerge from the darkness of the cell to join the man at the bars. "There are only three of you?" he asked.

"Yes," the prisoner nodded. Then: "How will we escape?"

"Just leave that to us," answered the old one and the prisoner accepted such a response though he was a bit doubtful of such a claim.

Soon Rad shouted in triumph when he found the right key, the cell door swinging out afterwards. "Our thanks," the prisoner said gratefully as he and his family emerged from the cell.

"You can thank us later after we're far from Lesalia's walls," the old one said. "Now come! The night grows old and I would want to find myself far from Lesalia come morning."

That statement stilled any more conversation as they hurried back to the pool. When they reached it, Rad dove in first followed by Beowulf. "You must be joking!" the man exclaimed when he saw them disappear into the dirty water. "We're to escape through that?"

"It's the only way unless you want to fight through knight-infested halls!" Lavian argued. "Now hurry!"

"Yes, hurry!" his wife echoed and he stifled a frustrating sigh as he took a deep breath and dove into the water. He was soon followed by his wife and son, they being not too thrilled about the idea either, but if it was the only way to escape unnoticed...

In their rush to escape, the group hasn't noticed the absence of one of their number until Mustadio pointed out, "Where's Alicia?"

* * *

For a split second, the Shrine Knight saw a beautiful face contorted into an expression of rage. He lifted his sword, seeking to parry the cut that slashed at his face, and saw bright sparks flash as steel met with steel. Then pain exploded through his head and he saw no more.

Alicia stepped over the dead knight's body impassively, spittle flecking lips curled into a snarl, her eyes staring blankly ahead as she marched along the hall, oblivious of her surroundings, aware of only the desire to hunt and kill the one responsible for their suffering.

"Someone send for Sir Tomas!" one of the knights that were gathered in the hall commanded urgently. "The rest of you, stop her!"

As one knight went to fetch the Divine Knight, the rest of the knights were a bit hesitant to approach the enemy for they have witnessed first-hand what the berserk rage that gripped the knight maiden had done to those who went against her. Dead knights littered the hall behind her, killed by the incredible strength she now possessed. But they had a sworn duty to protect the castle and so charged her, knowing that to die in battle was an honorable death.

If Alicia was aware of the wave of knights that approached her, she didn't show it. Only when the first knight to reach her swung his sword did she show her fury. She forged ahead, chopping down her foes with powerful swings, ignoring those blows that managed to pass her guard for she felt no pain, her anger dulling it so that she continued relentlessly until no obstacles stood in her path.

* * *

Lavian led Orlandu, Beowulf, and Mustadio through the carnage filled halls of Lesalia Castle, following the trail of littered bodies as they searched for Alicia who seemed to have gone mad once again.

Orlandu had ordered Rad to take the family through the sewers and to wait with Malak at the stand of hickory trees. If they did not return by sunrise, they were to leave without them. He prayed that they would be able to escape in time, avoiding any more bloodshed as there was now.

"Here!" Lavian suddenly exclaimed as the group turned to another hallway just like the others, filled with slain knights.

"How is she doing this?" Beowulf wondered as he ran along the others, gazing briefly at the vicious cuts that had killed the surrounding knights. "It seems...inhuman."

"It seems we were wrong in assuming that she is cured of her madness," Orlandu replied. "Or perhaps coming here has triggered it."

"Maybe that's it," Mustadio agreed to the latter choice. "When she was possessed by madness, she was going to Lesalia."

"Then perhaps it was—" Lavian began but was suddenly interrupted by a shout and a scream further down the hall. "That sounds like Alicia! She's in trouble!" she exclaimed, urging the others to hurry as she sped towards the disturbance. When they reached the end of the hall, they saw Alicia fighting a Divine Knight with her broken sword and shield.

Alicia howled, swinging the shattered remains of her sword towards the Divine Knight's hooded head, which was easily blocked. The momentum of her swing, however, brought her full circle, bringing the edge of her shield to the side of the knight's head, knocking him over. She was upon him in an instant, snarling as she raised her broken sword, roaring as she moved to thrust it into the unprotected neck of her adversary...

Only to be stopped by Lavian's blade.

Tomas stared in wonderment as he watched his rescuer place a hand on the head of the wild knight maiden, muttering arcane words, puzzled on why she would help him. As the thought passed, he saw the madness leave his enemy's face as she fell into a deep slumber.

Beowulf came to take Alicia, slinging her over his shoulder, before walking back in the direction they had come from. The others looked at the Divine Knight briefly before taking their leave as well, unafraid of the retaliation they may receive.

But Tomas just stared as they left, making no move to arrest them as was his duty, confused on why they had stopped their friend from killing him for he was certainly their enemy.

Or was he?

"Sir Tomas!" someone shouted to him, cutting into his thoughts, and he turned to see a contingent of Shrine Knights coming towards him. "Are you all right?" a knight—the same one that had greeted him—asked in concern. "I heard—"

He stopped when he caught sight of the escaping heretics down the hall. "There they are men!" he yelled as he pointed towards them. "After them!" He, along with the rest of the knights, ran after them, quickly disregarding Tomas, the arrest of the heretics taking priority over the well-being of their superior officer.

For some unknown reason, Divine Knight Tomas Varyn did not follow.

* * *

"What are we going to do?" Mustadio asked desperately as he looked around the room they had barricaded themselves in to escape the contingent of knights that were a moment ago at their heels. "We're trapped!"

"No, you're not," a strange voice disagreed.

The group quickly went on the defensive, unsheathing swords and loading guns. "Who's there?" Orlandu demanded as he scanned the room, eyes roving over sparse furnishings, his gaze piercing through the shadows.

A shape detached itself from the shadows, appearing just before the group. Orlandu studied the cloaked figure, whose face he could not see for it was well hidden beneath the cowl. The stranger was slightly built and the old knight had no doubt that some sort of weapon was hidden beneath the brown robe.

"A guide," the stranger answered Orlandu's question, "out of Lesalia Castle and even Lesalia itself. If you care to follow me..." Without waiting for an answer, the stranger went to the far wall and pushed a certain brick, a section of the wall sliding out and to the side, revealing a hidden passage.

"Come," the stranger beckoned them from the mouth of the passage. "This will lead you to the outer walls of Lesalia."

Lavian was a bit suspicious. "How do we know that you're not leading us into a trap?" she questioned warily.

"Always the cautious one," the stranger chuckled which elicited puzzled looks from the others. "I now know why Agrias trusted you with her life."

"How did you..." Lavian asked haltingly, puzzled on how this stranger knew her so well.

"Know?" the stranger finished. "Let's just say that a mutual friend told me. Now shall you come or would you wait until the knights break down that door?" To prove his point, they heard a harsh pounding against the portal as if something heavy was crashing against it. "You have my word, Lavian," the stranger reassured her, "that I shall lead you and your friends out of Lesalia...if you wish it."

The door cracked slightly from the onslaught of whatever the knights were using as a battering ram.

Lavian saw that the others waited on her decision, even Orlandu who was their appointed leader in these matters. She then looked back at the door that was beginning to bend, the knights soon upon them. "It seems we have no choice," she sighed.

The cloaked figure appeared to beam in approval of the knight maiden's decision. "Good! Now follow me before they succeed in breaking down that door." The stranger entered the passage followed by the others, the wall closing after all were through.

The secret passage was dark and musty, proof that it had not been used in years. After what seemed to be hours, the group reached what seemed to be a dead end. Looks could be deceiving as they found out when the dead end opened to reveal the plains surrounding the city.

They emerged from the secret passage, each filled with elation, glad to be out in the cool air, feeling the soft grass beneath their feet.

"I must apologize," Lavian said to the stranger afterwards, "for not having more faith in you."

The stranger shook his head. "No. It is _I_ who must apologize for not having faith in _you_." Lavian became confused and was about to question why but stopped when the stranger turned to leave. "Be well, Lavian," he said in farewell. "I'm counting on you to continue carrying out your duties."

Before the wall closed behind the stranger, Lavian caught a glimpse of a blonde lock beneath the hood. She smiled as she whispered beneath her breath, "I will."

* * *

"So, she's dead," Ryan, one of the prisoners that Orlandu and the others had rescued, whispered sadly.

After their narrow escape from the Imperial Capital, the group decided to rest in the shelter of young redwood trees that Malak had sighted during their run from Lesalia. Here Lavian and Mustadio tended the numerous wounds that Alicia had received during her rage while Malak and Rad took care of their meal, leaving Orlandu and Beowulf to inform the family they had rescued of Meliadoul's death.

"I'm sorry," Orlandu said remorsefully and Ryan nodded.

Beowulf then took out the package that Meliadoul had given him. "Here," he said as he extended the package towards Ryan. "Mel wanted me to deliver this to you."

Ryan took the package reverently, wondering what last gift his family now receives. He turned to look at them who sat with the group and his wife said, "Open it."

Ryan obeyed, carefully tearing the covering to reveal a small mahogany box, an ornate cross etched unto its dark surface. He undid the small golden latch, lifting the cover to reveal a sheathed dagger, a key, and a letter. He took the parchment and began reading it silently, eyes growing wider as he read.

"What does it say?" his wife asked curiously.

Her husband smiled when he was finished. "Even in death, she still takes care of us," he declared softly, tears brimming his eyes as he handed the letter to her.

"I can't believe it!" she gasped after reading the letter, covering her mouth in shock. The letter claimed that the key in the box was the key to a chest filled with a generous amount of gil that they could live on for the rest of their days. She hugged her husband fiercely in joy.

"What is it?" their son pouted, angry that they would not share their happiness.

After their brief embrace, Ryan looked at his son, pulling out the sheathed dagger from the box. "The letter said that this is for you," he said as he handed the dagger to him. "Meliadoul is sorry that she will not be able to teach you how to wield it."

The boy did not hear the last sentence as he gazed at the weapon, wide-eyed, taking it into his hands tenderly. He unsheathed the blade, admiring the finely honed metal that seemed to pulsate softly, glinting ever so slightly in the soft light of the morning sun that managed to shine through the branches of the hurst. Ryan knew that his son would treasure the blade, watching him return it to its leather sheath.

"What will you do now?" Orlandu questioned him as they all stood up.

"We will claim Meliadoul's gift then after..." He shrugged, smiling. "We shall see." He then held out a hand and said, "I thank you for rescuing us. Meliadoul must be proud to have such loyal friends as you."

"As are you," Orlandu said as he took Ryan's hand and shook it. "Take care on your journey."

Ryan nodded before leading his family away from the wood and into sunlit plains. Orlandu and Beowulf watched them go, glad to have finally honored their last vow to their departed friend.

"What are we to do now that we have fulfilled our promise to Mel?" Beowulf asked the old knight.

"There's only one thing we can do," Orlandu sighed as he turned to look at his friend gravely.

"We wait."


	11. Lessons

**Chapter Ten: Lessons**

Ramia sighed as she stared out the window where it afforded her a view of the knights patrolling the ramparts, the red and green pennants of Limberry Castle wavering in the midmorning wind, her mind wandering as the monotonous voice of the chaplain droned in her ears.

She pictured herself walking along those ramparts, conversing with the other guards as they dutifully guarded the castle, armor blazing brightly, hand resting on the hilt of her sword.

Ramia sighed again, wishing that time would move faster. Being a page for the past five years was a tiresome matter that she could not help but go through this first phase of knightly training. In the mornings, she would help set up the meal, bringing in food and drinks, washing the dishes afterwards.

Later, she would go to the stables and lead her father's chocobo to the castle yard where she exercised it on a tether. She, herself, did not have a chocobo for that privilege was reserved for squires. She did, however, became familiar with taking care of the great birds. After exercising her father's chocobo for about an hour, she would bring it back to the stables where she groomed the sleek black feathers and fed it Sylkis Greens.

The washing and the exercising were but a part of a page's duty, the rest being the wearisome matter of formal education, which she loathed. Though it was interesting to learn of Ivalice's past—with the Fifty Year War being the most recent lesson—she also learned language, politics, religion, and—most unpleasant of all—courtly behavior.

She was taught not to sit until asked to do so, not to claw at body or to lean against a post in her master's presence, to be obedient to her lord, and to do instantly whatever was asked of her by her lord. Such behavior taught her common courtesy, to show proper respect in the presence of higher officials.

There was also the bothersome chore of learning the arts. The chaplain—a man in his mid-thirties named Ray—was quite pleased to have found Ramia quite adept at music. At times she would sing for her father at the great hall, her melodic voice echoing through the room as her fingers strummed the strings of the instrument she most favored—the lyre. Dancing, however, was a different matter.

The judgment of beat that served Ramia so well on the lyre deserted her completely on the dance floor. She would either stumble or step on her partner's toes. The chaplain called her a dancing hazard, one that would impede other dancers on the ballroom floor with her clumsiness. Such lack of dancing skill was improper of a lady and so, Ray was determined to turn his pupil from a floundering fledgling to a graceful crane.

Despite having two left feet, she excelled quite well in her other subjects. Ray praised her for having a keen mind that would match the edge of any finely honed sword, her quick wit serving her well in the future in both the battlefield and in the castle.

But sharp minds also fall prey to inattentiveness as the chaplain found out upon hearing another sigh escape his student's lips. He promptly turned from his task of writing notes on the board to see Ramia staring out at the window where a finch sat on the sill returning his student's stare with one of its own, tilting its head to one side. Noticing another's approach, the finch gave a trill as if in warning to the young girl staring at it before quickly taking flight in a flurry of bright feathers.

"Mistress Ramia."

Ramia gasped, quickly averting her gaze from the window to the man that had called her, realizing that she had wandered off during the lesson. "Forgive me, Brother Ray," she apologized sheepishly. "I must have drifted off."

Ray smiled in acceptance then said in a gentle voice: "Perhaps we should end the lessons for the day. I don't want my best student to work too hard."

"No, please!" Ramia exclaimed in shock. "I don't want the lessons to end because of my daydreaming! What would father think?"

"He shall hear nothing of it," Ray replied reassuringly. "If he questions on why you're out of class early, tell him that I wasn't feeling well."

"But that's lying!" she protested. "And according to God's commandments, it's wrong to lie! You even told me that yourself!"

The chaplain's smile grew wider, proud to have instilled such strong moral values in the young girl. "Very good. I'm glad to see that you still practice the moral code. I've taught you well."

"Then teach me some more!" Ramia urged eagerly. "I'll pay attention this time! I promise!"

Ray chuckled heartily. "Oh, but I must insist, Mistress Ramia! There's more to life than history and politics...like that finch you were staring at a moment ago." He paused briefly as he leaned against his desk. "Here's a thought," he resumed. "Today's assignment shall be to enjoy the rest of the day, to experience the wind on your face as you walk the battlements, to hear the merchants bartering in the market, to smell the fresh loaves of bread from the bakery. This will teach you that there's more to life than these four walls and to appreciate it. Different, yes?"

Ramia tapped her chin in thought then nodded. "It is...different."

"Then do you accept it?" Ray inquired, his dark eyes twinkling. Then smirked as he added, "If not, then I could go on with today's lessons..."

"I'll do it!" the bright young girl exclaimed as she jumped out of her seat. "It's better than sitting around all day."

"Good!" the chaplain nodded in approval. "I want you to tell me everything you experienced first thing tomorrow. You're dismissed!"

The young page quickly exited the study, eager to accomplish today's assignment. Brother Ray gazed pensively at the door that had shut behind his pupil, reflecting on the change he had seen in Ramia for the past few months.

A few months ago, her nephew—though she didn't think of Galvin as her nephew—moved to Lesalia to continue with his knightly training, being promoted to the rank of squire at the age of fourteen. Ever since, he had caught Ramia staring at the window constantly as if seeking to join Galvin at the Imperial Capital. Being at twelve years of age, she had two more years before she would leave this out of the way castle for something greater in the large city of Lesalia.

"Patience," he murmured as he went to the board to begin erasing the notes he had painstakingly written. "That is also part of the moral code..."

* * *

Ramia ran enthusiastically along the parapets of Limberry Castle, laughing as she enjoyed the feel of the cool wind washing over her face. Guards posted at intervals glanced as she passed, puzzled at her behavior. However, there was one who questioned it.

"What are you doing out of class so early?" a loud, yet gentle voice asked, bringing Ramia to a stop.

She turned to see her brother standing behind her decked in full armor that shone in the soft glow of the sun, his cape wavering wildly in the strong wind.

Ramia smiled as she cheerfully greeted her brother. "Brother Ray let me out early to begin today's assignment," she explained afterwards. "I am to enjoy the rest of the day and to appreciate life."

"Really?" Alex asked and when Ramia nodded, continued, "Then perhaps you'll also enjoy this letter that just arrived from Galvin." He took out a folded parchment and held it up between two fingers.

Ramia quickly ran towards her brother and snatched the note from his hand, eagerly unfolding it, curious to know what Galvin has been doing lately since this was his first letter that he sent ever since he left. It read:

_To my family in Limberry:_

_Greetings! Three months ago, I was but a humble page in the service of Limberry. It's hard to believe that I'm now a squire under the tutelage of an honorable knight that had served the royal family for many years, Lord Agnes Oaks. He is a good man though somewhat despondent at times, which puzzles me though I do not question about it. As for the training, he's quite the teacher! It's through his guidance that I can withstand duels and mock battles when I train with other squires at the palace yard. Oh! The palace! Ramia, you should see it! It's absolutely breathtaking especially after you pass the gate. A great dome serves as the cupola of the palace proper, rising from a single gigantic block of white from which windows and balconies look down on the yards, arched doorways affording entrance. I must admit, I wish you were here for Oaks Keep seems a lonely place. Hurry up with your studies! As to mother and father, I miss you both. The same goes to grandfather and grandmother. I hold all of you in my heart and shall do my best to make you all proud of me, to uphold our family honor and pride._

_Love,  
__Galvin Birch_

Alex couldn't help but smile at his sister's expression, her eyes wide as she read and reread the letter, her nose nearly touching the parchment as she held it taut in between her hands. "I think that's enough," he said after what he believed was the fifth time Ramia read the letter, prying the parchment from her fingers which didn't want to let go.

Ramia let out a small cry of disappointment when Alex managed to seize the letter from her.

"I believe you have an assignment to do," Alex said as he folded the parchment and place it beneath his bracer. "I hope you're not planning to run around the castle all day."

Ramia laughed then at her brother's failed optimism. "Don't worry," she assured him. "I was planning to go to town next with father, but since you're here..."

"You want me to go with you, right?" Alex guessed and Ramia nodded. He chuckled as he said, "Why not? My shift is almost over anyway. Wait for me in the great hall and I would gladly escort you around town."

"All right," Ramia agreed. "Thanks, brother!" She gave a small wave before leaving for the great hall, humming a small tune as she traversed the stones.

Alex couldn't believe that eight years had passed since Ramia had arrived in Limberry from Lesalia. She was a small girl then just barely pass the age of a toddler. Now she stood at the doorway of adolescence. He could not help but wonder where the time had gone...

* * *

"Fish! Get your fresh fish here, straight from Lake Diara! Fresh fish ready to eat as soon as you take it home!"

Similar shouts rang throughout the market as merchants tried to sell their various wares. There was a whole assortment of items on sale. From the armories and medicinal shops that most travelers frequented to antiques like vases and tapestries to shops that sell magical items, a favorite among mages.

Though she had traversed the streets of the town many times in the past, Ramia could not help but stare in awe every time she visited. There was a time, however, when she stared not in wonder but in thought.

She had begun to distinguish the difference between herself and the people. She even recognized a difference between herself and her parents. First, she saw that most Limberrians possessed dark colored hair and slightly slanted eyes. Their skin was tan in color, having spent most of their lives out in the sun as they fished. She stuck out quite well in a crowd with her fair skin and bright blonde hair, characteristics of a person from the west.

Ramia knew her father to be of Limberrian stock while her mother came from a place called Fovoham. Though her mother came from the west, that still did not explain why she was so different. Becoming aware of this fact, she questioned her parents about it.

Knowing that this would eventually happen, Andrew and Celinda were prepared to impart the knowledge she sought. Ramia learned that her true mother was a common knight serving in Zeltennia Castle, who died trying to quell a riot—one of many that took place after the death of Queen Ovelia and the disappearance of King Delita—in Zarghidas Trade City while her father...

Her foster parents did not know her father. They said that he had disappeared long before she was born. A coward they had called him, one who probably could not face the responsibilities of raising a child. And so she grew to resent her father even though she didn't know him, resent him for abandoning them, perhaps using them.

Visiting Zeltennia at that time, her foster parents heard the news and out of the goodness of their hearts, adopted her into their family. Ramia didn't remember any of this, but she grew to love her new family.

And her new home.

She smiled now as she savored the sights and sounds of the town. Limberry was full of wonders made possible by the people. Such a place could not exist without them.

Alex also pointed that out as he said, "Look, Ramia." He waved a hand around, encompassing the people and the buildings, the sky above and the ground below. "The people live because of us though some nobles don't agree."

"What do you mean, Alex?" Ramia asked puzzled.

They emerged at the town square where a beautiful white marble fountain spewed forth water that cascaded down to a pool below. Mothers sat at the pool's edge as their children laughed, pushing the white lotuses that floated on the water as if they were miniature boats, perhaps thinking about taming the lake as the rest in Limberry. There were a few couples that held hands, mesmerized by the water that flowed down.

"Some nobles believe that the people exist to serve us," Alex replied as he led Ramia to the fountain where she sat at the pool's edge, staring at her reflection in its waters. "But in truth, one cannot live without the other. They give us food and clothing while we provide them with protection. Understand?"

Ramia nodded slowly then said, "We must treasure all life, be it a noble's or a commoner's; all are equal in God's eyes."

"I see that you've been studying the Scriptures," Alex said with an approved smile. "With a bit more patience and training, I have no doubt that you will become a fine knight."

Ramia smiled at her brother's praise and when he suggested that they return to the castle, she agreed having learned a lot today. Once they returned home, she decided to write what she learned in preparation for making her report to the chaplain on the morrow.

* * *

"I heard that you went to town today," Andrew stated calmly as he sliced a portion of his venison.

It was dinnertime in Limberry Castle, the family all gathered around the table as usual, talking about the day's events; all except for one.

After three months, Ramia still expected Galvin to show up. She now looked at the empty seat he usually occupied with mixed feelings of jealousy and eagerness; jealous of him for being able to go on with his training while she was stuck as a page for two more years and eager to finish her own training as a page so that she may join him.

"What business did you have there?" Andrew continued after swallowing the portion of venison, his voice bringing Ramia to the present.

She was about to reply to her father's inquiry, but was saved the task when her brother spoke: "Ramia needed someone to accompany her to town so she could accomplish her assignment."

"Is that so?" Andrew placed his utensils down, wiping his mouth with a napkin after. "And what assignment would that be?" He gazed at Ramia, awaiting an answer.

"I was to enjoy the rest of the day and to appreciate life." Ramia repeated what she had said to her brother when he had asked why she was out of class early.

"That's an unusual assignment." Andrew stroked his beard thoughtfully then shrugged before taking his utensils into his hands once more. "But I do not question Brother Ray's teaching methods. He sings his praises about you every time I speak with him."

Ramia smiled widely at such compliments, her chest slightly swelling in pride.

"However," her father continued, her smile slightly faltering at his solemn tone, "he seems to be concerned about your dancing capabilities."

Her smile completely flipped upside-down into a frown at the mention of her one area of failure. "I try my best, father, but my feet seem not to be made for dancing," she argued. "Is it not better if I sing during a banquet than to dance?"

"Perhaps," Andrew allowed as he sliced another portion of his meal.

"Your voice is quite heavenly, daughter," Celinda agreed, "but it's best that you learn to dance as well. A well-rounded person is more valuable than one who is not at all."

"So, you're saying that it's better to sing _and _dance than to just sing?" Ramia said in askance.

"Of course!" her mother replied.

Ramia just sighed.

* * *

"So, what did you do yesterday?" Brother Ray asked as soon as Ramia took her seat. "What did you experience?"

"I felt the wind on my face as I ran along the ramparts," his student began. "I read a letter Galvin sent saying that he misses me and wishes that I was at Lesalia with him. Then I went to town with my brother and he taught me that we should respect everyone regardless of rank."

The chaplain nodded, pleased with the report. "That is God's Will for everyone," he stated. "We practice it here in Limberry, but in other cities and towns..." He shrugged casually. "Well, you shall see once you go to Lesalia. Now," he turned towards the board where he had written today's lecture notes, "let us begin today's lessons..."

Ramia dutifully dipped her quill into an inkpot in preparation of taking notes. If she were to become a squire, she would need to endure two more years of being a page.

And today, she became one day closer to that goal.


	12. Exile's Children

**Chapter Eleven: Exile's Children**

The Kingdom of Ordallia.

A country that bordered Ivalice to the east, rich in gold, silk, and spices, ruled by the benign King Valowa.

It is a land rich with meadows and valleys, rolling hills and sheer mountain peaks, barren deserts and luscious forests; a land more diverse than its neighbor to the west. It is also a rich land with mines abundant in jewels and metals for jewelry and smithing, forests for timber, and grass for raising livestock.

Such a land of incredible bounty showed no signs of its struggle with Ivalice that ended about sixteen years ago. Unlike their neighbor, they had no problems paying war reparations to those who fought. The people rebuilt what they had lost and continued on with life.

Which has been quite peaceful since.

_If Ivalicians knew of such peace, how marvelous that would be._

A man in his early thirties sat on a knoll, tossing an apple core over his shoulder before lying back on the grass with hands folded behind his head of shoulder-length flaxen hair as he relaxed for the day.

The plain, long dry after the winter snows, was once again alive. The grass grew green under a bright, cold sun that shone from a cloud-patterned sky the color of gunmetal. The wind blew strong, rustling the grass, carrying the promise of rain before nightfall. A herd of bison moved slowly over the verdure, like great shoals of fish, and overhead eagles swooped and circled. Far to the west lie his homeland of Ivalice and he wondered what went on there, but only vaguely—this was his home now, this fine, free place.

Abruptly, he stood up and called for his mount. A yellow-feathered chocobo answered his call, warking happily. The man mounted the great bird and heeled it to a canter for the return back home before the rain came.

As the sun approached the western horizon, clouds gathered in massy banks of ominous gray, blown toward him by the wind out of the northeast. Lit redly by the setting sun, dark above, they reminded him of a great explosion he had witnessed in his young adulthood. Indeed, like the distant roaring of cannon fire, he heard the rumble of thunder carried on the wind. It was time to halt for the night.

Seeing that he would not make it back home before the storm would hit, he brought his chocobo to a stand of oak. The wind was strengthening steadily and already the sky grew dark, the thunder drawing closer. He picketed his chocobo and left it to forage, then set to constructing a makeshift shelter. There seemed little point in attempting a fire that likely the approaching storm would drown, so he contented himself with the jerky he brought, squatting beneath a roof of branches. As he finished his meal the storm arrived, and with his sharp eyes watched as lightning stab daggers of jagged brilliance at the ground before moving on like some vast and ethereal many-legged beast stalking the plain. The thunder dinned awhile longer and rain drove hard against the trees and the roof of his shelter. He stretched out dry, pleased with his construction, and composed himself for sleep.

* * *

_Brother..._

A woman sat alone at the only table in the cottage, staring pensively at the dancing flame of the lone candle, flickering as a breeze blew from the nearby window. She heard the rain pound endlessly against the thatched roof of the cottage, lightning flashing afterwards, briefly illuminating the dark corners.

A plate of venison lie cold in front of her untouched, a similar plate lying across from her also untouched. She stared now at that plate, wondering if her brother would return from his outing to the grassy plains or stay at a wood to wait out the storm. She sighed as she turned green eyes to the window where lightning flashed, lighting up the countryside so that she could see the trees of a nearby forest and the plains that stretched as far as the eye could see.

And yet, there was still no sign of her brother.

* * *

Thunder seemed to roar in protestation at the two men whose blades crashed in time to its beat. Sparks flew as their swords locked in mortal combat, both unrelenting in their struggle. They were evenly matched, both reading the other's movement as easily as if they read a book. Parry or thrust, the other's blade would always find a way to counter.

The man, whose sleep had been suddenly interrupted by the whisper of a blade being unsheathed, clenched his teeth as he blocked his opponent's sword. Rain poured in abundance, drenching him from head to toe, the ground slippery so that he had to tread carefully or risk the chance of slipping and letting his opponent get the upper hand. He held his sword in both hands, not only to give power to his swing, but also to keep a firm grip on the hilt, the rain threatening to slip it from his grasp.

He breathed heavily, briefly wiping the rain from his eyes as he stared at his opponent whose countenance seemed to mirror his own. Lightning flashed for a moment revealing a face framed with long dark hair that hung limply about his head and a heavy beard of about the same color that grew around his mouth and up the sides of his face. Dark eyes returned his gaze unwaveringly. His lips then curled into a grin as he spoke in a strong, soft voice, "I see that your skills have not waned during the years you have stayed here, Ramza. They are as sharp as ever," his grin grew wider as he added, "and more besides."

"Enough, Delita," Ramza declared, thunder rumbling in the distance adding authority to his voice. "You came here for a reason. Now tell me, what's so important that the King of Ivalice left his country and come hunting for me? Is it to bring me back to be tried or to act as executioner because I know the truth?"

"If you want an answer," Delita began as he drew back his weapon, "you have to beat me first!" He roared as he charged at Ramza, his sword held high, his shield held in front.

Ramza stood relaxed, holding his Ragnarok casually to the side, waiting for the right moment to strike. He did not move even as Delita drew his sword further back in preparation for an attack, only stood watching.

This puzzled the monarch for he knew in past duels with Ramza that he would make a move to block his attack. _What are you up to?_, he thought as he begun to swing his sword. He then saw it as quick as the lightning that flashed in that instant.

His blade was deflected, catching him off balance, so that he stumbled back only to fall when Ramza followed up with a punch to his jaw. His sword slipped out of his grasp as he hit the ground, the blade sliding over the grass only to stop at the base of a hill a few feet away. He reflexively raised his shield in anticipation of a follow-up slash that would surely come.

"Father!"

Delita looked up to see his son standing protectively in front of him, brandishing his sword that had flown from his grasp at Ramza in challenge.

Lightning flashed as Ramza stared in disbelief at the young boy who claimed Delita to be his father. The boy was but a youth with honey-colored hair that was cropped short and eyes that burned with determination, yet his features seem to be of the gentle sort. Ramza gasped, thunder booming in the distance, suddenly realizing where he had seen that look.

"You have the look of your mother, boy," he stated solemnly.

The boy was caught off guard with that statement, his sword lowering a fraction. "My...mother...?" he asked softly almost eagerly. "You knew my mother?"

"He knows nothing!" Delita suddenly shouted as he quickly stood up and grabbed his sword from his son before charging at Ramza once more.

Ramza dodged, parried, and blocked the wild swings from his adversary as he felt a sense of dread grip his heart. "Ovelia! What have you done to her?" he demanded as he backed away from a slash.

"Nothing!" Delita replied as he continued to swing wildly. "You know nothing! _Nothing!_" He continued to repeat those phrases with each swing until he lost control and fell onto his knees where he covered his face with his hands and wept, his tears mingling with the rain that flowed down his cheeks.

"Delita..." Ramza whispered sadly as he watched the monarch sob into his hands. He then watched as Delita's son walked slowly towards his father, puzzled on why he was weeping.

"Father, what's wrong?" he asked as he knelt by his side.

"Oh, forgive me, my son," Delita moaned as he brought his son into his arms and hugged him close. "I killed her. I killed your mother..."

* * *

The woman's eyes snapped open when she heard the door to the cottage burst open. Alarmed, she decided to investigate. She quietly rose from her bed and carefully made her way to the bedroom door, taking her staff that leaned against the wall next to it. Whispering a soft prayer, she opened the door and peered cautiously around the common room.

Lightning flashed briefly revealing three figures lurking within, two of them standing at the door to the cottage while the third headed towards the fireplace. Gathering up her courage, she screamed as she charged out of the room, heading straight for the figure near the fireplace, hoping to catch the intruder off guard. It nearly worked until a voice shouted: "Stop, Alma!"

She unknowingly obeyed, confused on how these strangers knew her name. She then received an explanation when the figure near the fireplace successfully started a fire, illuminating the cottage, revealing the identities of the three strangers.

"Brother!" she exclaimed in relief upon seeing Ramza. "I thought you would wait out the storm."

Ramza nodded. "I would have if not for our visitors." He gestured towards the doorway.

Alma turned to see a youth and a bearded man, who smiled as he stepped forward to greet her: "Hello, Alma. It's good to see you are doing well after all these years."

Alma recognized the voice that had halted her, yet she was still confused on how this stranger knew her.

Perhaps her expression showed her puzzlement for the man chuckled. "I guess it's been awhile, hasn't it?" he asked lightheartedly. "It's me, Delita."

"D-Delita?" Alma stuttered in shock. "But...how? Why?"

"That's what I would like to know." Ramza came with a few goblets and a bottle of a clear vintage. "Both of you take wine?" He began filling the goblets with the vintage without awaiting an answer as all sat around the table where only a few hours ago, Alma sat waiting for Ramza.

"Thank you," Delita said gratefully echoed by the youth. "I realized that our duel had made me quite thirsty."

"So," Ramza began as soon as his visitors emptied their cups, "tell us why you are here and not in Ivalice."

"But first," Alma added as she poured more wine for the two men, "who is the boy? We haven't been properly introduced."

"My name is Raizen," the boy replied, sipping his wine after.

"My son," Delita added softly. "Ovelia's...and mine." He saw that Ramza was about to question, but held up a hand to halt him. "Let me explain," he began in a sad tone. "Then you shall know why I have come here to Ordallia..."

* * *

_"You...traitor," Olan spat venomously._

_"Oh, please," Delita said contemptuously. "You know you wanted this too. Look around." He spread his arms for effect. __"See anyone who's really saddened? You should thank me for 'killing' your father...now nobody will be after him."_

_"Stop that nonsense!" the Astrologist exclaimed in rage._

_"Why?" Ovelia whispered, shocked. "Why did you do such a thing?"_

_"I told you I'd make you into a real monarch," the King answered simply, taking her hand to assure her._

_But Ovelia shook his hand away, shouting angrily, "You liar! You're just trying to use me!"_

_Delita was surprised at her claim. "You don't trust me?" he inquired gently. Ovelia remained quiet, confusion and doubt writ on her face. "Well...Ovelia?" Delita asked again._

_"I'd like to trust you..." Ovelia began uncertainly. "But..."_

_"I must talk to Olan," Delita interjected impatiently. There was time for her to explain after he's done with this small important matter. "Go to your room..."_

_Seeing that the matter was closed, for now, she nodded her assent. "Please... Be gentle with him..." she requested._

_"Ok," Delita nodded. "I promise..."_

_Ovelia took her leave of her husband and their guests, taking the stairs down to the floor below, where she opened the door. She was about to go through, but was suddenly curious to know what Delita was planning to do. She decided to eavesdrop, closing the door without going through, giving the impression that she left the room._

_When Olan heard the door close, he said, "I don't care. All I wanted was to clear my stepfather. Do it in one deathblow..."_

_Delita looked at the wounded Astrologist kneeling before him, whose blood was dripping down the side of his face as he breathed raggedly. "What are you talking about? I can't have you dead," the King declared._

_Olan looked up in surprise. "What am I worth to you alive?"_

_"You'll work under me," Delita stated curtly._

_The Astrologist began to chuckle. "Don't be a fool," he sneered. "I refuse, even if it means death!"_

_"You cannot refuse." Delita shook his head as he turned away to look out the window. "I'll bring down the Hokuten and build Ovelia's kingdom." He then turned back to face Olan and Balmafula. ____"Of course I'll kill the High Priest. I'm not his dog."_

_Olan looked at him in shock. "Are you serious? What the hell...?"_

_"I'm sure you know I'm right," the King stated calmly. "What I'm planning to do is completely justified. A former squire, now in control of Knights, and restoring order to the world. It's easy to understand. This is the 'hero' the people have been demanding."_

_"For that, you're going to take advantage of everything?" Olan asked incredulously._

_"Is that wrong?" Delita replied innocently._

_Ovelia felt as if she'd been slapped in the face. _Take advantage of...everything...?_, she thought dismally. _Was he then taking advantage of me...? Did he use me to gain what he most desired?

_As these questions tore through her mind, there was one thing that was certain: she had been betrayed. Shocked and angry at this sudden revelation, she turned and fled the room, slamming the door behind her._

Damn it!_, the King thought when he heard the door slam._ She must have heard everything! Now I must have a talk with her after all of this is through. _He then noticed the female magician had stepped forward in challenge and frowned when he saw the partially hidden dagger._

_"What's the matter?" he inquired then added mockingly, "Want to kill me?" Balmafula just glared at him in answer. "I know the High Priest sent you as an 'assassin'," stated the King. "And if I betray you, you'll kill me, right?"_

_He then stepped forward to confront Balmafula, who stepped back defensively, pulling out the dagger simultaneously. Delita spread his arms in challenge as he said, "Go on... Stab me with that dagger."_

_Balmafula continued to glare, lifting the dagger slightly, but for some reason, she could not go through with the act. "What's the matter?" Delita questioned sardonically, spreading his arms wider to show that he was unarmed and vulnerable. "Go on... If you don't kill me..." he took one threatening step, "I'll kill you!"_

_He then lunged forward as he snapped his right wrist, a hidden dagger appearing in his hand. Balmafula screamed when Delita pinned her to the wall, unable to retaliate as his blade swung towards her. She closed her eyes, waiting for the killing blow..._

_But it didn't come._

_After a few moments, she reluctantly opened her eyes and saw the dagger just inches from her neck. "What...?" she whispered in surprise and confusion._

_Delita stared at her a moment as he moved the dagger lower to her collarbone. There, he moved the blade beneath a thin string. He raised it slightly, lifting a cross with a rose engraved in the middle from its hiding place beneath the collar of Balmafula's tunic. After removing the ornament from Balmafula, he released her._

_"You're dead," he declared grimly, holding the cross before her. "I've just killed you." He then placed the cross away. "Now get out before I provide the Church with your corpse."_

_Balmafula nodded somberly in reluctant acceptance._

_"What does he mean?" Olan whispered in puzzlement. "What is that cross?"_

_"That cross," Balmafula began dourly, "is a symbol of a secret sect within the Church called the Divine Rose: a group consisting of the Church's spies and assassins in which I am a member. Without it, my affiliation with the sect and the Church is removed."_

_"In other words, dead," Delita simply reiterated. "The Church will bother you no more." He then turned away, following Ovelia's previous route to the room's exit, leaving Balmafula and Olan to decide their fate..._

* * *

"After that night, I started to doubt my motives," Delita continued, "for you see, I heard some surprising news...from Ovelia." He smiled as he looked at Raizen who said, "Me?"

Delita nodded. "I did not expect to be a father so soon after my rise to power," he continued, "and thus, my uncertainty. I kept wondering if I was doing the right thing. Then I realized that all I've been doing was for me and not for others. I've become what I've most hated: the manipulator. I used you," he looked at Ramza, "your friends, and, yes, even Ovelia. Realizing this, she decided to take matters into her own hands. A few months after Raizen was born, I found her in Zeltennia's Church ruins. It was her birthday and I thought I would surprise her with a gift..."

* * *

_As Delita entered the ruins on his chocobo, he saw Ovelia kneeling over some stones that had served as a wall of the church. "Here you are..." he said as he halted his chocobo. "Everyone's been looking for you."_

_He then hopped down from his mount, which soon turned and walked away, as he walked over to his wife with his hands behind his back, which produced a bouquet of flowers as he brought them forward. "Today's your birthday, right? These flowers..."_

_Ovelia suddenly turned around and dashed towards him, the flash of a dagger evident in her hand as she stabbed her husband. Delita could only stare in surprise, the bouquet falling from limp fingers, their petals as red as the blood that now flowed from his wound. "O...Ovelia...?" he whispered in disbelief as he wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the dagger._

_"You use everybody like that!" Ovelia cried, tears pouring down her cheeks, her hand wet now with her husband's blood. "Now, you'll kill me just like Ramza...!"_

_Something snapped within Delita then. With the coolness of his devious mind he used to use others, Delita pulled out the dagger and flipped it so that he stabbed her in the chest with the blade. Ovelia's mouth opened, trying to speak, but only_ _a trickle of blood escaped her lips. Yet, it was her eyes that would forever haunt the King._

_His wife's eyes burned with conviction as they slowly dimmed in death. She fell to her knees, her eyes still staring at her husband, her lips forming one word before her last breath escaped between them:_

Deceiver.

_Delita shuddered as he stepped back, clutching his wound, staring in disbelief at his dead wife's body, realizing that he had killed her in cold blood. He dropped the dagger, falling onto his knees afterward in grief and shock for what he had done. "Ramza..." he rasped as he clutched his wound. "What did you get? I..." His strength gave out as he collapsed, his world turning black._

_The next he woke, he was lying on a bed in his bedchamber. _How did I..._, he thought as he looked around. He tried to get up, but immediately fell back onto his pillows when pain flared from his torso. Wincing, he looked beneath the covers to see a cloth covering his wound._

_Suddenly, he remembered what had happened at the ruins. _No, I didn't...!_ He looked at his hand—the hand that had held the dagger that had murdered his wife—expecting to see it covered with blood only to find the evidence of his crime cleansed. _She can't be dead! This is all but a nightmare and I will wake from it!

_As soon as that thought passed, he heard someone enter the room. He turned to see that it was a chemist, who smiled gently when he saw that the King was awake. "How are you feeling, your majesty?" he asked as he placed his bag of items on the nearby table._

_"What happened?" Delita whispered, afraid to find the answer._

_"You mean, you don't remember?" the chemist asked as he mixed some potions into a beaker and when Delita shook his head, sighed as he placed the beaker down. He then marched up to the bed and looked at the King directly. "It's hard for me to say this but I'll be blunt," he began._

_"Your majesty...Queen Ovelia is dead."_

* * *

"Dead..." Delita whispered mournfully, cupping his hands around the goblet. Tears threatened to flow again, but he quickly dashed them away. "I—I killed her..." He clutched his cup tighter. "I killed Ovelia!" he cried out in anguish.

Unable to hold the tears any longer, Delita broke down and cried, his shoulders quaking as he sobbed. Though the news of Ovelia's murder came as a shock to the others, they could not help but pity the monarch who had to live with his guilt all these years.

No one was as shocked as Raizen, to know that his father had killed his mother and had successfully hid the secret from him. _"Oh, forgive me, my son,"_ his father had asked of him, but how could he? To learn that his father was responsible for his mother's death, not the victim of an attack by thieves as he was told.

"Why did you not tell me?" Raizen lamented. "Why did you not tell me?" he repeated harshly, abruptly pushing his chair back as he stood and glared down at his father. "I had the right to know! Mother was right! You are a deceiver! You even deceived your own son!"

Though his son's words pierced his heart, Delita tried to regain control of his emotions, taking a deep breath as he wiped his tears away. "I did not tell you because..." He looked up at his son and Raizen saw the pain of thirteen years buried in his dark eyes. "Because I did not want you to bear the shame along with me." He stood up and placed both hands on his son's shoulders.

"Father, I do not understand," Raizen shook his head as he looked up at Delita.

"My hands are soiled with the blood of many innocent lives," Delita began, "lives which I have taken to reach the top. I promised myself that you would not soil your hands of the innocent, but to live honestly with pride and honor, both of which I have lost." He then turned to look at the Beoulve siblings, especially at Ramza, and smiled as he said: "Just like General Balbanes used to tell us."

Ramza nodded as he returned the smile. "Yes."

Delita then turned to his son. "That is why I have brought you here to Ordallia," he explained. "To teach you these things so that one day you'll be able to rule Ivalice as a wise and just ruler unlike your own father."

"I see..." Alma said thoughtfully. "Raizen...one who rises above adversity. A fitting name."

"A name Ovelia chose," Delita added. "A name befitting of a prince, of a future ruler of Ivalice."

"Mother named me?" Raizen whispered in shock. There were so many secrets of his father's past that he was learning quickly that he felt overwhelmed. He slowly sat back down unable to stand any longer.

"Yes," Delita nodded. "She foresaw you to be the future of Ivalice calling you 'a king among kings'. I thought she was blabbering nonsense at that time, but now I understand what she meant. You will rule Ivalice under a banner of peace and the people shall prosper under your guidance. Your mother believed that to be so and I do too."

"Then I must live up to my name," Raizen declared proudly. "In honor of mother."

"I believe you shall," Delita nodded. He then yawned, realizing that the night was not getting any younger.

Seeing Delita yawn reminded Alma of how she had been rudely awakened from her slumber. She stood up and said, "Both of you must be tired from your journey. Come. I'll show you to your room."

"Alma, if you don't mind, I would like Delita to stay a little while longer," Ramza said.

"As you wish, brother," she complied before leaving the common room with Raizen.

Delita resumed his seat as he asked, "What do you want of me, Ramza?"

Ramza refilled Delita's cup and his own, taking a sip before replying, "Why wasn't Agrias present when you killed Ovelia? Before we parted, she told me that she would return to her duty of protecting her. I find it strange to know that she wasn't there."

The King chuckled. "It's funny you asked that." He sipped his wine before continuing. "She would have followed Ovelia if she wasn't ill that day."

"Ill?" Ramza couldn't believe such a simple thing as being ill could keep Agrias from her duty. He could only stare at Delita in disbelief, who calmly sipped his wine again before continuing.

"Yes, ill," Delita nodded. "So ill, in fact, that she couldn't get out of bed. Strange, isn't it?"

"Very much," Ramza agreed, stroking his beard, which was kept neat unlike Delita's bush of a beard, in thought. "What ailed her?"

"According to the chemist that attended her, she was suffering from bouts of dizziness, headaches, and nausea," Delita replied.

"I see..." Ramza continued to stroke his beard.

Delita noticed the concern in his voice. "Are you worried for her?" he teased, gazing at his friend slyly.

"Of course I'm worried for her," Ramza said stating the obvious. "As I am worried for the others also. Who knows what's been happening in Ivalice now that you're gone."

"What could possibly happen without me there?" Delita shrugged as if it did not matter.

"After the Lion War," Ramza began gravely, "anything is possible."

* * *

The next morning, Delita awoke to the sound of laughter coming from the common room of the cottage. He tried to get out of bed, but groaned as he fell back, wondering why his head pounded so.

"Here."

He looked up to see his son holding a cup of water towards him. He muttered, "Thank you," as he took the cup and spilled a flow of tepid water down his throat.

"Perhaps a bath would refresh you," Raizen suggested. "Alma has one already prepared."

Delita began to nod, but thought better of it. He held his head as it continued to throb as he glanced around the confines of the room. The shutters to the lone window were thrown back and morning sunlight shone in painful lances against his eyes: he groaned again.

"What happened?" he asked thickly.

"You had a bit too much wine last night," Raizen answered with censorious solicitude.

Delita scowled slightly remembering the little drinking match he had with Ramza after their little conversation. "That wine," he said wincing, "is quite strong."

"Taken to excess," Raizen shrugged, "I suppose it would be."

Delita saw the mischievous smile he wore and found its match. "You mock me, boy."

"Perish the thought!" Raizen gasped. "Would I mock you, father? Why, I was just about to bring you breakfast, thinking you'd likely be hungry. It will save your pounding head the trouble if you partake it here."

Delita was about to question his son why but soon found his answer when the laughter that had awoken him roared through the slightly opened door.

"Ramza is entertaining a friend who had come to visit this morning," Raizen explained. "Perhaps you would like to meet him? He's quite the jovial fellow and quite the gambler."

"Maybe I shall," Delita said curious to know what kind of friends Ramza had made during his stay in this country. Though he and Raizen had lived here for as long as Ramza and Alma, they didn't really take the time to make friends, always moving from town to town. "But first, that bath," he said as he slowly rose from bed. "I would make myself presentable before Ramza's guest."

"Of course," his son agreed. "Come." He beckoned his father to follow him.

They quit the room to emerge at the common room. Ramza, Alma, and another sat at the table, drinking tea and spooning up some kind of porridge, nodding as they went by. Delita nodded politely, not moving his hurting head too much, and followed his son to the bath, which was behind the house where the twisted trunks of alders hid it from view.

"I'll wait for you with the others," Raizen said and Delita nodded. His son took his leave of him then, entering the house as Delita stripped. He then entered the water cautiously, gasping as he plunged beneath the surface. The water was cold, yet invigorating, as he dunked his head and felt the chill water wash away the aftereffects of the wine. When he emerged, he dried himself as best he could before dressing in his leather shirt and breeks.

With the aftereffects of the wine gone, he soon realized that he was hungry, his stomach growling in protest. _Best eat hearty_, he thought as he made his way back to the cottage.

* * *

Raizen was settled at the table, surrounded by his hosts and their guest. He watched with great interest at the little gambling match Ramza and their guest were engaged in while Alma fidgeted nervously in her seat, worried that her brother would lose.

Kyshon—the guest—turned back the sleeve of his black coat with a dramatic flourish and shook the dice in the cup of his dark-skinned hand. They rolled across the rough spruce of the table and stuttered to a halt with threes showing on both cubes. White teeth flashed as the dark man grinned, reaching to scoop up the small pile of coins that lay beside a pewter flagon of tea.

Ramza's face remained enigmatic as he took the dice and threw five, reaching into the pouch on his belt to extract another coin that he tossed toward his companion. Kyshon caught it in midair, his grin becoming wider still, until it seemed it must split his face.

"Enough?" he inquired mildly. "Or do you remain bent on rendering yourself penniless?"

Ramza grunted and took the flagon, tilting it above his cup to spill the tea brimful into the container. He lifted the cup, not a drop falling from the rim, and drank, his eyes calm on Kyshon's face.

"The best of three," he challenged as he set the cup down.

"Ramza!" Alma exclaimed angrily. "Enough is enough! We need that gil to survive the next few months!"

"Don't worry," Ramza said reassuringly. "I will win." His voice carried such confidence that made Alma believe that he would truly win.

The gambler chuckled. "You need more than luck to win this time." Kyshon emptied his own cup and filled it afresh. "The stakes?"

Ramza shrugged, dropping coins. Kyshon studied them a moment, then nodded. "Very well."

He shook the dice and tossed a seven. Ramza threw nine, though his expression did not change as the gambler snorted and scooped up the ivory cubes. A three followed and Kyshon laughed, then stopped as the Ivalician matched it. He threw six and began to chuckle again. Then stopped again as Ramza rolled two sixes and reached across the table to retrieve what he had bet, his eyes glinting as he faced Kyshon and said, "And what you owe me, gambler."

Kyshon shook his head, extracting coins from the stack at his elbow and counting them carefully onto the table.

"That is everything I won from you."

Ramza nodded sagely, the corners of his mouth curving slightly as he remarked, "A battle is not won until the last blow falls."

"Ivalician wisdom?" asked Kyshon lazily, tilting his chair back so that the midmorning sun shining into the cottage struck his face, lightening the tan from the color of aged oak to a more polished sheen.

"Common sense." He then turned to Alma, his grin growing wider. "See? I told you I'd win."

"And I'm grateful and relieved," his sister sighed in agreement.

The group then fell into normal conversation, Raizen speaking with the gambler who he found very intriguing. He then laughed when Delita approached, who smiled as Alma handed him a bowl of porridge, finding a seat at his son's side.

The porridge was thick and restorative, salted and laced with wild honey. He washed it down with tea, and after he had eaten two bowls, proclaimed himself filled.

"How are you feeling, Delita?" Ramza asked after. "Raizen told me that you were suffering some aftereffects of the wine."

"Yes, but after that bath, I feel fine," Delita replied. "Thank you."

"You Ivalicians are soft unlike us hardy Ordallians!" Kyshon bellowed. "Eh, Ramza?" He gave a light tap on Ramza's shoulder as he chuckled heartily, taking out a deck of cards from his coat.

Delita studied the stranger who was dressed in gentlemanly attire. He wore a black coat trimmed in gold and white boots. He shuffled the deck of cards he had taken out in his hands deftly, the cards seeming to have a life of their own. He was dark of skin, teeth shone white in contrast as he smiled a smile that could win any girl's heart. Delita noted that he possessed a charisma that surpassed mere looks.

"Delita, I'd like you to meet Kyshon," Ramza introduced as he rubbed his slightly aching shoulder from that 'tap'. "Kyshon, my friend, Delita."

Kyshon nodded, offering his hand as he said, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Delita."

"The pleasure is all mine," Delita returned as he shook Kyshon's hand. When the introductions were done, Kyshon returned to shuffling his deck. "I heard you are a gambler," Delita said gesturing to the cards that were flying between Kyshon's hands.

"I am," Kyshon nodded, "be it dice or cards. Your son here has already witnessed my skill and though it hasn't proven quite fruitful, there are other skills that are." He then smirked as he asked, "Would you care for me to demonstrate?"

"No!" both Ramza and Alma exclaimed at the same time. Delita and Raizen were taken aback by the siblings' answer.

"What we mean is..." Ramza began to explain more calmly, knowing what those 'skills' his friend was referring to.

"That you should show your card skills outside the cottage," Alma finished, hoping that they would heed their words.

"Outside?" Delita questioned puzzled. "Why should we go outside for a simple card game?"

"I assure you, it's no simple card game," Ramza moaned.

"Now, Ramza," Kyshon pouted as he began dealing two cards to everyone on the table, "there's no need to scare them like that. A simple game first, then I'll show them the 'ace up my sleeve', as I would like to call it."

After he was done dealing the cards, he began to explain the nature of the game. The game was called Blackjack and Kyshon was pleased to find out that Delita and Raizen already knew the rules to the game.

"We've watched people play it during our travels through this vast country," Delita explained.

"Great!" the gambler nodded. "Then let's begin!" He then looked at his cards and grinned. "Anybody wants to take a hit? Or will all of you stay?"

"I'll take a hit," Ramza said uncaringly since there's no gil at stake.

"I as well," Delita added.

Both men were dealt a card.

"Busted!" Ramza groaned, throwing his cards down on the table in defeat.

"All of you will be moaning in defeat like Ramza when I show you my cards," Kyshon grinned. He then flipped both cards, showing an ace and a jack, as he yelled in triumph, "Blackjack!"

The others groaned as Kyshon laughed. "If this were a real game, I would have won all of your gil!" he proclaimed enthusiastically as he collected the cards.

"You mean, won back your gil," quipped Alma.

Kyshon just shrugged as he stood up. "And now it's time to give a demonstration of my true skills."

The gambler exited the humble home followed by the others, gathering at a tree stump out in the yard. Kyshon stood atop of it, spreading his arms as if he were to address a large crowd. "Now I shall demonstrate my card skills," he bellowed. "But first, a volunteer from the audience. You sir!" He pointed at Delita. "Would you care to volunteer?"

Delita hesitated, but Ramza pushed him forward as he exclaimed, "Of course, he would like to volunteer!"

"But, Ramza...!" Delita began to protest, but stopped when Alma approached him holding a sword in her hands.

"Here you go!" she said with a smile as she handed him the weapon. She, along with Ramza, then pushed him forward to meet Kyshon, who was shuffling his deck in the middle of the yard.

"Get ready to defend yourself," the gambler warned Delita.

Delita nodded, understanding this to be a duel of sorts, though he wondered what the gambler was going to use as his weapon. _Probably a hidden knife_, he thought holding his sword in both hands. He then yelled as he charged at Kyshon, who just smiled still shuffling his cards. Suddenly, something flew from the gambler's hands.

Delita halted his charge when he saw five cards standing at his feet. "What?" he gasped in surprise. He then felt something fly by his face. He turned back to see a card sticking from the wooden fence that surrounded the yard. The cards were like throwing knives!

"Impressive, don't you think?" Kyshon asked affably as he went to collect his cards.

Delita could only stare in surprise as he picked a card at his feet, staring at it in curiosity. "They look like ordinary cards," he said as he handed it back to Kyshon.

"That's the beauty of these cards," the gambler said. "No one will suspect them to be weapons."

"Amazing..." was all Delita could say.

Kyshon nodded before giving a flourishing bow. "And thus, ends my demonstration. It was nice meeting you, Delita."

"The same to you as well," Delita said. The others came to join them and the gambler bowed once more saying, "Now I must take my leave of you. I hear the tables calling me and I must empty them of their gil. Farewell, Ramza, Alma, and to you too, Raizen! I shall return whenever the opportunity rises."

"You're always welcomed here," Ramza nodded. "Just don't think of emptying us of our gil."

Kyshon gave a hearty laugh. "But I must, Ramza! I cannot proclaim myself the greatest gambler of all Ordallia until I have beaten you! Until next we meet!" He gave a wave before walking down the dirt path that led to the main road.

"You have quite an intriguing friend, Ramza," Delita said as they all returned to the cottage.

"You think so?" Ramza asked and Delita nodded. The Beoulve then chuckled. "Wait until you meet the others."

* * *

Delita wiped the sweat from his brow as he leaned against his axe. Chopping wood was tiring work, but it did help strengthen his arms. He then looked to the side where his son was practicing the sword drills he had taught him. Slash, parry, thrust, block...it was just like he'd taught him.

Almost.

"Watch your stance, boy!" Delita shouted in admonishment. "And how many times do I have to tell you, use your hips, not your shoulders to swing your sword!"

"Stop being too hard on Raizen, Delita," Ramza chided calmly.

Delita diverted his gaze from his son to Ramza, who was on the porch sitting on a wooden chair as he carved something out of a wooden block. "I'm being hard on him for good reason," the monarch argued. He then caught sight of a group of people heading towards them. "More friends of yours...?"

Ramza nodded, climbing down the porch, intent on greeting his visitors. Raizen halted his sword drills and, like his father, stared at the company with curiosity. These visitors were no less strange than the gambler they had met in the morning.

Two of them seemed to be twins, so alike were they. One was dressed in the green jerkin of a forest hunter, a red chocobo feather stuck in his green cap that covered a crown of short black hair. A quiver of arrows and a bow was slung behind his back and Delita could see the hilt of a hidden knife in one of the man's ankle-high leather boots. The other twin was a female who wore clothing made of wool, which hid her slim figure. She had shoulder-length black hair which swayed freely in the evening breeze. A long whip was coiled at her belt and around her neck hung a whistle, one that was usually used for calling dogs.

Unlike the twins, who were quite talkative, the other two that accompanied them were not. These two seemed to be the elders of the group, perhaps one of them being the leader.

The oldest appeared to be a savage all dressed in furs as gray as his beard. The skin of a wolf sat across his shoulders, the still-fanged skull surmounting his head where his hair was all white. He held an axe whose broad blades were much larger than the axe Delita had used to cut wood.

The last of the group seemed to be of the scholarly type. She was quite tall, dressed in a simple robe of light blue that flowed down to her ankles. She leaned against a simple wooden staff, a soft smile gracing her lips as she watched Ramza talk with the twins.

"What's going on here?"

Delita and Raizen turned to see Alma walking towards them. "It seems more of your friends have come to visit," Delita replied gesturing to the group.

Alma groaned when she saw the group. "It seems I'll be cooking a bigger dinner than I had planned."

"We'll help you," Delita offered as he turned to follow Alma back into the cottage, his son following from behind. "Ramza seems too preoccupied with his guests to offer any assistance."

Alma just laughed.

* * *

Delita and Raizen soon learned the names of their guests as they all sat around the table for dinner. The twins were called Jovel and Jovet respectively, the savage one was named Draven, and the scholar who served as leader of this band was named Rae.

As they ate, both learned that the group traveled a lot around the country doing good deeds for the people. It was on one of these trips that they met the Beoulves and had become good friends ever since. Ramza would help them with their mission if they needed an extra hand, but most of the time, he would provide them with food and drink and a place to stay if need be.

Ramza found a kinship with them, knowing that money was no issue when helping those in need. The feeling of gratitude was far more rewarding than those of monetary value. His father had taught him that; that life was more precious than gold or silver.

This group, however, was not as simple looking as they seem to be. Each brought forth special skills that were very beneficial in their missions.

Jovel was a hunter, as Delita had predicted, quite skilled with the bow, able to fire four arrows in rapid succession with deadly accuracy. If their missions led them to a forest, he would be their guide in the brush, calling out to the creatures of the forest if they needed help. But if they encountered any monsters, they would all turn towards his sister for assistance.

Jovet was a trainer, as they called it in Ordallia, who could control and capture monsters. The whistle around her neck was used to control the monsters once they were captured. Her skill was very useful especially when trying to avoid unwanted destruction of a town they're guarding or a caravan they're escorting.

It was also useful for Rae who was not only a scholar but also a mage; a blue mage to be precise. Blue mages were those who learn monster skills by getting hit by the skill itself. That's where Jovet comes in. The trainer would tell the monster to execute its skill at Rae, therefore, learning the skill. Rae already possesses a large range of blue magic by this method and yet, she is still searching for more.

As Rae depends on magic for survival, Draven does not. The old man was taciturn, eating when they bid him to and remaining still when done. There was also a strange look in his eyes, as if he saw something that wasn't there. It unnerved Delita and Raizen and they soon learned why.

"Berserker?" Delita inquired intriguingly.

"Yes," Rae nodded solemnly. "A berserker, one whose heart is possessed by anger, which becomes uncontrollable rage during a battle. They possess uncanny strength that could crush boulders or split timber asunder. They feel no pain during their enraged state; always killing until nothing is left. Such is the power of the berserker."

"Their power is frightening," Ramza whispered, shuddering as he remembered the first time he had witnessed it. "Pray that you don't witness it."

"But how did he become a berserker?" Raizen asked thoughtfully. "Did he throw away all emotions except anger?"

"Sadly, no," Rae shook her head. "During the Fifty Year War, he had watched his family's murder while he was powerless to stop it. He became withdrawn, thus, making his heart vulnerable for anger to stir and control it. Will the rest of his emotions return?" She shrugged. "Who knows? Only time will tell."

"Until then, he is a force to be reckoned with," Jovel stated softly.

Soon dinner was over and the group bid farewell to Ramza and the others, thanking them for their hospitality. "Interesting friends you've made here, Ramza," Delita said as they watched the group walk into the night. "I hope you haven't forgotten those you've left at Ivalice. Do you plan on visiting them one day?"

"No," stated Ramza, saddened at the thought. "Though it pains me to wonder about their well being, I am not going back."

"But...why?" Delita asked imploringly.

"Because it would be safer for the others if I do not return at all," Ramza replied enigmatically. He then reentered the cottage, leaving Delita to wonder at what he meant.

Years would pass before he would fully comprehend...


	13. The Ties That Bind

**Chapter Twelve: The Ties That Bind**

Ramia gazed at the field of wheat that was spread before her like the sea in wonder. She looked up at the wide sky, all sunshine blue now, with the clouds fading like childhood memories, and felt the wind on her face and laughed for the sheer wonder of it all. This seemed a marvelous land, vast and verdant—she saw the farmers reaping the harvest, their wide-brimmed hats a contrast to the pointed hats she was used to seeing on the banks of Diara. Most sheared the wheat with their sickles while the rest bundled them and carried the sheaves to a chocobo driven cart where they were taken to the storehouses of Lesalia.

Andrew slightly turned his head briefly, glancing at his adoptive daughter. Ramia had grown into a fine young woman though her sturdy red linen shirt and trousers hid the burgeoning contours of her figure. The golden glory of her hair was drawn back in a braid held by a simple green bow. Her features were proud, the mouth wide and full-lipped above a firm jaw, her nose aquiline, her hazel eyes large. It was almost too strong a face, yet poignant, a complete mirror image of her mother.

This worried Andrew, causing him to harbor doubts about this endeavor. At the age of fourteen, Ramia was ready to begin her training as a squire, a novice of knighthood. He vaguely recalled the solemn, formal, religious ceremony that had taken place about a week ago that promoted Ramia from a page to a squire. It seemed all a blur, an event that happened too quickly. Soon they were on the road to her daughter's next step towards knighthood, a step full of uncertainty.

_Agnes, I hope you know what you're doing_, he thought grimly.

As the sun fell away to the west, the party of five made camp where a wooden fence separated the fields of wheat from the grazing grounds of those chocobos that pull the carts. The three knights that accompanied Andrew and Ramia on their journey to Lesalia prepared dinner and when everyone had their fill, they set up a watch.

In the morning, they quickly broke their fast, spurred on by Ramia's eagerness to reach the capital and her new home. They crested a hill of which the party could see the capital spread out in all its glory.

Ramia gasped when she saw it, for it was far larger than Limberry Castle. The stone that bulked from the grassy meadow stood high as four tall men, solid and square, with towers rising higher still at each corner. A city surrounded the palace on three sides, its buildings dwarfed by the mass of the castle.

Andrew's group made their way down the hill, following the road that wound its way through the plains that surrounded Lesalia. Ramia could see that the road led to the north gate of the capital, but instead of forging ahead, they turned to a side road that led uphill to a simple citadel.

It was, Ramia saw, encircled by an area filled with a variety of shrubs and trees that ended at the walls of the fortress adorned with banners of the noble family. Like the banners at home, they were long and green and portrayed the symbol of the family that resided here. Neatly trimmed shrubs lined the road to the stone edifice, the gardeners somewhat surprised at the arrival of Andrew's party especially when they caught sight of the young woman.

Ramia did not notice their stares, however, for she gasped as she saw two oak trees ahead marking the gate of this bastion. Their branches were full and spread wide like two giant sentinels on duty. The party trotted in between them into an enclosure...

...and before them was the citadel that was not as simple as Ramia first believed it to be.

What had appeared to be simple shrubs and trees surrounding the bastion were in reality a beautiful garden filled with flowers of various colors where butterflies flitted about and bees buzzed, where birds crooned and insects crawled. The bastion itself was as magnificent as the garden that encircled it with windows and balconies, each allowing a view of the garden below.

She was barely aware of the knight who came forward to take her reins, smiling as Ramia tore her gaze from the magnificence about her and dismounted. She was given no more time to study her surroundings for a servant had arrived and requested that she and Andrew accompany him. They marched briskly across the enclosure to the main doors of the citadel, leaving the three knights to take care of their chocobos.

Andrew seemed at ease while she felt vaguely like a country bumpkin. She assumed a look of casualness, but nonetheless gazed around in wonder as they were led across a tall-ceilinged room with a floor of flagstones and walls hung with ancient tapestries to a second door. They progressed steadily inward until their escort reached a stairway that curved up toward the second floor. He began to climb, Andrew and Ramia following, until they came to a corridor lit by some nearby windows and he halted at a door inlaid with brass plates. He pounded once and when a voice called from inside, pushed the door open, as he announced, "The master awaits you."

Andrew entered without hesitation, Ramia following a pace behind, trying hard to remember the protocols Ray had instilled in her. It was not necessary, for the man who came toward them as the door closed opened his arms and embraced Andrew as might an old friend, unmet for too long a time. Andrew in turn returned the embrace with enthusiasm, leaving Ramia the opportunity to study the lord.

Agnes was a fraction shorter than Andrew and some years older, his face thin and homely. His soft, yellowish hair was cropped to shoulder length, more gray in it than showed in Andrew's, bound with a plain circle of gold, a long mustache decorating an upper lip that was saved from weakness by the wide, firm set of his smiling mouth. His robe was dark green, unadorned, and the belt about his narrow waist was of simple black leather, a sheathed dirk adorning his side.

When, finally, he released his grip on Andrew and turned toward Ramia, the young woman saw that his eyes were blue and tired, the pleasure that shone there contrasting with the deep creases lining his cheeks and brow. "Is this the child I saw so long ago, Andrew?" he asked with a smile, studying Ramia.

Ramia gaped, not sure how she should respond. Ray's instruction had not included lessons on the informality of lords.

Agnes made it easy for her by clasping her shoulders as she began to bow and saying, "Ramia, welcome to Oaks Keep. Your arrival here marks the beginning of your next step towards knighthood. I hope you will enjoy your stay here as you train under my guidance." His voice was soft, echoing the weariness and—sadness?—that showed in his eyes.

"My lord," Ramia began, "it is an honor to be here and to receive such training from a respectable knight of the crown."

Agnes nodded once, his expression solemn for a brief moment before returning to its pleasant self. "I'm glad," he said. "Perhaps you would like to settle down and talk to Galvin. He's been wanting to see you."

Ramia looked at Andrew, her mute inquiry answered with a nod. "I would very much appreciate it, my lord," she said.

Agnes nodded and called for a servant, who arrived and escorted Ramia out of the room. When the door closed, Agnes gave a great sigh. "By St. Ajora, Andrew! She looks like Agrias when she was at that age!" he exclaimed.

"Yes." Andrew's expression grew solemn and he stroked at his gray-streaked beard. "Are you sure about this, Agnes? She has begun to question her heritage. Are you not worried that she may find out the truth? The paintings—"

"—are gone," Agnes supplied as he crossed to a spindle-legged table, filling two goblets with a pale, golden vintage that sparkled as he passed the cups as casually as though they drank in some tavern. "I've placed them all in the vault and I possess the only key." He then motioned toward chairs set about a window recess, their backs and arms inlaid with gold, the seats of soft, blue material.

Andrew nodded slowly, unsure, as he took a seat. "Perhaps she is safe from the truth here, but what about the palace?" He motioned at the window where the southern gate of Lesalia was shown. "Won't the other nobles talk if you bring her there?"

"That is a risk I am willing to take," Agnes stated, sipping wine as he stared moodily out the window over the grass surrounding the noble's residence to the rooftops of Lesalia. Set as it was atop a hill, the keep commanded the finest view possible of the capital.

"Then you risk too much," his friend returned gravely. "It's best if she trains in Limberry or perhaps in Zeltennia. It's far less risky than her staying here."

Agnes sighed, a great gusting of breath that sent the ends of his mustache to swaying. "You know that I'll not have it any other way," he said somberly. "I am not long for this world and I would feel assured if all of this," he spread out his arms to encompass the room, "and this," he tapped his head, "were passed down to her." He then smiled as he added, "She is family after all."

"Yes, there's no denying that," Lord Birch agreed. "But she must not know. Proper precautions must be made to ensure that, meaning that you must tread carefully when visiting the capital."

"I shall," Agnes nodded in agreement, calm enough now to join his friend by taking the seat next to him. "Now tell me, how is Celinda doing?"

* * *

Ramia gazed briefly at her surroundings as she was led to her quarters, oblivious of the glances the servant was giving her.

The servant could not help but be amazed at the changes ten years could make on a person. He remembered her being nothing more than a child that was on the verge of forging a path in life then to see her all grown into a young woman that was walking that path. But what shocked him the most was the uncanny resemblance she had of her mother.

He knew of the incident; all of them knew. The working staff was given warnings not to mention anything of it while Ramia was to reside here. But will that be enough? He looked back one more time and stopped when he saw that he wasn't being followed.

Ramia stood facing the wall with a thoughtful expression.

"Is something wrong, Mistress Ramia?" he asked curiously.

"There's something missing here," Ramia replied softly more to herself than in reply to the servant's inquiry. "I don't know how but I just know. Strange, isn't it?" she asked as she walked away from the area in question.

"Quite," the servant replied bluntly, seemingly uninterested in the matter as they resumed their walk. In actuality, however, he was troubled. Something was indeed missing from that wall, a painting of Lord Oaks' wife. He made a quick mental note to report this little incident to Lord Oaks, knowing that he would find it startling.

There were no more incidents as they continued to traverse the hallways of Oaks Keep. He brought Ramia through more resplendent corridors to a chamber from which emanated the sweet scent of flowers set in a pot atop the mantle of the fireplace, the sun shining through the curtained window that offered a splendid view of the Imperial Capital.

"Your room," the servant declared, stepping to the side as Ramia entered slowly, marveling at the splendid sight. Yet, she felt as if she had been here before perhaps in a previous life, if there existed such a thing.

"Shall you be visiting Master Galvin, Mistress Ramia?" he asked, cutting into Ramia's thoughts.

"Yes, of course," Ramia replied, "once I have everything set here."

"Very well," the servant nodded. "I shall wait here." He bowed once before closing the door.

As soon as the door closed, Ramia flung her satchel excitedly on a bed large enough to hold three people. The squire stalked to the window and stared out, spreading her arms as if to embrace the scenery, and smiled.

This was to be her new home. She couldn't wait to meet the city and its people, to explore the streets and the meadows, and to meet other squires and knights at the palace. Her heart pounded with excitement at the mere thought of it.

But it was best to use that enthusiasm to explore the keep, to know its walls for she was to be staying here for the duration of her training. With that thought in mind, she turned away from the sight of the capital to look about her, thinking that the soft, silken draperies and the luxurious carpets that hid the floor were too lavish, a room fit for a higher ranking official than a lowly squire like herself.

She walked around, exploring the contents of the wardrobe, finding clothing of a nature to suit her purpose of training in the knightly arts. Among the leather jerkins and breeches, however, were clothing of a nature that matched the luxury of the room. Next to the wardrobe was an armoire where she found a shield and a dagger within. These were to be hers no doubt.

Satisfied with her room, she decided it was time to visit Galvin. The servant nodded, smiling as Ramia walked out of her room. "Shall we be going, Mistress Ramia?" he asked politely.

"Yes," Ramia replied then smiled as she added, "And please, call me Ramia."

The servant nodded. "As you wish...Ramia. I am Demitri."

"Well, Demitri," Ramia began, "if you can so kindly bring me to Galvin..."

Demitri nodded once more, steering Ramia down the corridor in the direction of a staircase, as he led her to where Galvin awaited.

* * *

Galvin growled in frustration, thrusting his sword onto the soft earth. "I'll never master that technique!" he muttered through clenched teeth. "It's impossible!"

For the past hour or so, he had been in the garden attempting to execute a sword technique that Lord Oaks had shown him. He performed the moves correctly, albeit slowly. He can't seem to execute it flawlessly, always pausing in mid-swing, which may cause him his life if he were in a real battle. "Impossible!" he muttered again furiously.

"What's impossible?"

Galvin quickly turned towards the voice, his cheeks slightly red from embarrassment. They turned a shade darker when he saw who it was that spoke. "R-Ramia!" he stammered, mortified to know that she may have been watching him sputter angrily. "W-What a surprise!"

Ramia stood beneath an arch of white wood, vines snaking their way through and around the structure. There were three other arches, each placed at a point of the compass, providing entry to the circular clearing that was bordered by hedges. It was but a small part of the garden that Ramia had glimpsed from afar.

"What's so surprising?" Ramia grinned as she entered the clearing. "You knew I was coming, right?"

Galvin laughed awkwardly as he rubbed his head. "It must have slipped my mind," he said, smiling uneasily.

"Practicing?" Ramia gestured towards his sword.

Galvin suddenly became serious. "Yes," he nodded as he took up his sword. "Lord Oaks showed me a sword technique that he wants me to master. Problem is, I'm having trouble executing it flawlessly. I keep pausing in mid-swing."

"Can I see?" Ramia asked eagerly, her eyes shining with excitement.

Galvin thought for a moment then nodded. "All right, but don't laugh!" Ramia nodded vigorously in agreement, anxious for Galvin to demonstrate, who took a deep breath as he went into a fighting stance.

He stood still as he mentally pictured himself doing the technique. It was difficult, he knew, having done it so many times. The technique was not powerful; it only served to stun the enemy or enemies. It was a move more accustomed to exhibitions than in battles, but Lord Oaks had informed him that it had proven itself in battle. He did not doubt his lord's words and so made an effort in mastering it.

Ramia watched as Galvin stepped forward making a downward diagonal slash at the same time. He then reversed his swing, his sword slashing diagonally upward as he pivoted on his left foot, the momentum of his swing carrying his body into a full circle...

An image suddenly flashed in Ramia's mind of a person doing the same technique that Galvin was demonstrating. _That move..._, she thought as Galvin raised his sword...

_I've seen it before..._

...to do a downward slash as he completed his circle.

_But when?_

Galvin let out a sigh when he had completed the technique. He smiled as he turned to Ramia and asked, "How was that for a demonstration?" A look of concern suddenly appeared on his face when he saw that Ramia was just staring at him, her face slightly pale. "Ramia, what's wrong?"

"That technique..." she said in a hushed tone. "I think I've seen it before."

"Really?" Galvin inquired. "Where? When?"

Ramia shook her head. "I don't know. But one thing is certain..." She smirked mischievously. "Your technique needs some work."

Galvin sputtered, his face turning slightly red with anger. "Well, if you've seen it before, then you would be able to perform it perfectly. Go on!" he challenged with a wave of his hand. "Let's see you do it!" He stepped to the side as Ramia walked towards the center.

She unsheathed her sword, the sword she had received during the ceremony from which she was promoted to squire, and took practice swings with it. On her journey to Lesalia, she was taught how to handle the weapon even sparring with the other knights when time permitted. She was very confident that she could perform the technique with ease.

After doing a few swings, she got into her own battle stance. With a shout, she performed the technique quickly and effortlessly. She then stood quite still for a moment before sheathing her sword.

Galvin could only stare in amazement as she turned towards him and smiled. "How's that?" she asked.

"P-Perfect!" he gasped in awe. "And on the first try, too! Amazing! How did you do it?"

Ramia shrugged. "It just came naturally to me."

Galvin shook his head in disbelief. "Strange..." He was about to say more but was interrupted by a servant's call.

"Forgive me, Master Galvin, Mistress Ramia." The servant bowed slightly in apology. "Lord Oaks and Lord Birch request your presence at the stables."

"Thank you, Nathan," Galvin said gratefully. "Inform them that we shall attend to them shortly."

"Very well." Nathan bowed again before leaving.

Galvin then turned to Ramia and said, "We should be going. We don't want to keep them waiting."

"Yes," Ramia agreed. "We must be obedient to our lord and do instantly what is asked of us."

"That is correct," Galvin nodded in approval. "Protocol demands it."

* * *

The stables were built hard against the keep's west wall, long, tile-roofed structures scented of hay and the companionable odor of the chocobos. An exercise yard of packed earth fronted the covered stalls, surrounded by grain stores and tack houses and the quarters of the grooms themselves. These latter were split by a tunnel giving access to the interior, and Galvin and Ramia trotted down the passage to the yard.

Both lords were standing there, watching as the Limberrian knights saddled their mounts, Andrew's tall black chocobo already accoutered. He was still clothed in his riding gear, his sword latched on his waist, his arms crossed over his chest. He and Agnes turned as both Galvin and Ramia approached.

"You are ready to go," Ramia remarked.

Andrew nodded.

"Why so soon?" she inquired a bit sadly. "It has not passed midday yet."

"I am aware of that, Ramia," Lord Birch concurred. "But it's imperative that I return to Limberry as soon as possible. I have duties to uphold as you will soon know when you too become a knight. The reason why I called you here is to bid you farewell."

Ramia nodded, her eyes watering, realizing that this may be the last time in a long while that she'll ever see of him. "Father..." she murmured as she put her arm to his shoulder, hugging him, grateful for the responding embrace.

"Look to Lord Oaks for advice," Andrew urged when they broke apart, "and to your own heart for what is right. Know that I am proud of you." He then turned to Galvin. "You have grown since last I saw you," he smiled as he studied his grandson. He could see the physical heritage he had inherited from Alex in the broad set of his shoulders, his body lean and hard. His hair was tied into a plait away from a face that could woo any maiden's heart. "It seems you've been taking care of yourself very well," he added after.

"I am," Galvin said. "I wish you well on your return home, grandfather. Give my regards to mother, father, and grandmother." He put out his hand and his grandfather's locked against it.

"I will," Andrew nodded then turned to Agnes and said, "Take care, old friend, and look after these striplings. Ivalice is in need of good knights."

"I shall," Agnes agreed. "Take care on your journey."

Lord Birch nodded once more. He then spun and shouted for the waiting Limberrians to mount. He climbed astride his own chocobo and raised a hand in farewell. As he clattered down the paved tunnel, Ramia wondered if it had been moisture he saw in the brown eyes or merely reflected sunlight. The knights trotted after him, calling their farewells, and the stable yard grew abruptly silent.

"Come," Agnes beckoned his two squires. "It's time we begin today's lessons."

* * *

Ramia soon learned that though she was a squire, she still upheld those duties of a page, serving at meals, washing the dishes, and looking after her lord's mount. Besides these household chores, there was the rigorous practice of the martial arts.

For the next few days, she was taught the various equipment she would be wearing on duty as a knight. There was her armor and gauntlets, helmet and shield, and most importantly, her sword. She practiced putting on these various equipment and thus accustom herself to their weight.

At first, it was cumbersome. When she walked, it was with stiff strides and when she fought, her movements were slow and awkward. Galvin seemed to move fluidly while armored and she envied him for that. But then she remembered that he had been in training for two years and was already accustomed to its weight.

So, everyday she made an effort to overcome this simple burden of metal. As she did this, she was also taught how to properly wield her sword and use her shield. She would spar with Galvin, who was fully armored as she, and whenever she would fall, he would help her up and resume the training with gusto.

As the weeks passed by, Lord Oaks observed Ramia improved with each passing day. Soon she was moving as fluidly as Galvin, unhampered by the weight of her equipment. Pleased with her progress, Agnes decided that she was ready to learn how to combat while riding on a chocobo.

Naturally, a squire had to be a skillful rider. One of the goals Agnes set was for his squires to leap into the saddle in full armor. It sounded simple enough, but when Ramia tried it, she failed, falling unceremoniously to the ground.

_Easier said than done_, Galvin had warned her.

It was sound advice. Besides leaping onto saddle in full armor, she had to ride her chocobo fully armed and at full tilt. It was a challenge, but nonetheless, with Galvin and Agnes helping her along the way, she was able to master the art of riding.

Ramia continued to train in these things, seeking to improve her skills both in combat and in riding. Agnes was impressed by her show of vigor and determination. Even Galvin did not show as much enthusiasm as she.

A few months passed...

Agnes elected it was time to speak with Ramia about his decision for her to test her skills against other squires at the capital. As he expected, Ramia was in the garden occupied with her unceasing search for perfection. Agnes waited silently to the side, unwilling to disturb the concentration of the young squire. Besides, it was always a pleasure to observe her actions.

Ramia was certainly a quick learner, mastering those techniques that only his family knew while Galvin still struggled with the first few. There was no denying that Ramia was truly his granddaughter. He was proud of her, and was it sorrowful for him to not tell Ramia about her true heritage, still it was good that he could be a part of her life once again.

Ramia seemed to be unaware of his presence as she swung her sword in a high arc that curved almost too fast for the eye to follow above her head and down, the motion ending with her standing in a relaxed manner.

Agnes clapped once and Ramia quickly turned to see who it was. "M-My lord!" she exclaimed in shock when she caught sight of Agnes. She sheathed her sword and bowed. "I never knew you were present!"

Agnes waved a dismissive hand as he approached. "That does not matter," he said with a smile. "What matters now is that you are ready."

"Ready?" Ramia was puzzled. "Ready for what?"

"Ready to test your skills against other squires," Agnes replied in a patient tone. "You have trained long and hard during the past months and I believe you are ready to take your training a step further. I have taught you everything I know. It's time you learn more from others. What say you?"

"If you believe it to be so," Ramia began, "then I accept."

Agnes nodded, pleased. "Very good. Then on the morrow we shall visit the Imperial Capital."

_And pray that none shall question your presence._

* * *

Morning delivered a clear day, the sky a pure blue without a cloud to mark its beauty. Birds sang a welcome to the rising sun and from the garden, squirrels chattered. A breeze blew over the walls of the stable yard as Galvin and Ramia prepared to embark for Lesalia.

As Ramia placed saddle and harness on her chocobo—yet another gift that was bestowed upon her as a squire—Lord Oaks arrived in full regalia, his breastplate shining softly in the morning sun, his hair combed back and fixed in place at the nape of his neck with a clasp of hammered silver. His cape of white was clasped at his left shoulder by a badge of gold on which, in bas relief, stood the tripartite crown of Lesalia's St. Konoe Knights and above it, his family's insignia. A sword was belted at his waist, the hilt elaborately carved to represent a tree with its branches spreading forth to form the quillons.

As he approached, a stablehand stepped forward leading a chocobo of pale feathers from the stable already equipped for the ride ahead. Agnes was handed the reins and he mounted afterwards. "Ready?" he asked his squires when they were astride their mounts. They nodded in answer and he nodded in return before heeling his chocobo forward followed by his squires.

He took the lead as they rode at a moderate pace down the hill, Galvin and Ramia flanking him from behind. Soon they rode along the main road to Lesalia's northern gate. As they trotted along the road, Ramia noticed smaller holdings dotting the plains and she questioned about them.

"Farms," Agnes replied, "for raising livestock and vineyards for wine. They provide the food needed to sustain the people of Lesalia."

Ramia nodded in understanding. Lesalia was the largest city in Ivalice after all. It made perfect sense for farmers to provide them with food as much as the sailors back in Limberry provide them with fish. Her curiosity satisfied, she began to enjoy the little ride to the capital. When they had finally reached the gate, Ramia could only gape in awe.

She had seen nothing like the city. Not even the grim splendor of Bethla Garrison could compare with what she saw illuminated by the waxing light of the rising sun, for in size and magnificence Lesalia dwarfed even her wildest imaginations.

Ramia leaned forward on her chocobo, deaf to the shout of the knights who were guarding the gate, her eyes wide as she stared, turning her head from side to side, still unable to encompass the full glory of the place. Houses were piled like boxes, one atop the other, their rooftops of tile and marble, slate and wood, shimmering color against the brilliant glow of the sun to the east, while to the west lanterns flickered away in greeting to the arrival of a new day. She was so enrapt with her surroundings that she didn't hear the exchange between Agnes and the knights.

"Greetings, Lord Oaks!" hailed the officer. "What business do you bring to Lesalia?"

"My squires have come to train at the palace," Agnes replied calmly. He then watched as the officer took a quick glance at Galvin, but stared a moment longer at Ramia.

The officer then nodded. "Please enter." He and the other two knights on guard stepped to the side as the trio passed through the gate.

As they watched them leave, one of the other knights questioned, "Didn't you see the girl? She looked like—"

"I know," interjected the officer. "One of you go inform Father Jaren of what you saw. He would certainly be curious as to know why she has returned to Lesalia."

* * *

Agnes was relieved to see that they had passed without any difficulty. However, he knew that Ramia's presence had already received some attention and probably had formed some curious questions from the onlookers.

Ramia couldn't care less as she studied Lesalia at closer quarters, finding it as marvelous as it had seemed from the keep. Initially they rode past taverns that were silent and nearly empty of patrons but come evening, they would be as rowdy as taverns anywhere. Then they began to pass bazaars and kiosks that were beginning to open up for business, displaying a bewildering variety of goods. Past the shops were houses—houses as she had never seen. All brilliant tilework and mosaics of tiny colored stones, with ornate balconies and roofs hung with lanterns and pennants and metal cylinders that chimed as the breeze struck them.

Being so early in the day, not many people thronged the streets, which made their progress a whole lot easier. Wide avenues ran down to the gates and city square, interconnecting streets and alleyways crisscrossing between them.

Galvin knew that the most direct route to the palace gates was through the city square. He was surprised, however, when they turned to another street instead of continuing down the avenue to the square. Puzzled, he was about to question Agnes, but halted when he saw his lord staring at him from the corner of his eye as if to say not to question. So, he kept silent, wondering all the while.

Agnes knew the route they took was the long way to the palace, but he had to avoid the city square. For one, it painfully reminded him of what took place there ten years ago and for another, it was for Ramia's sake.

The platforms used in the trial were a permanent fixture of the city square now, a reminder to the people that the hunt for the heretics still continued even after ten years. It would explain why Lesalia's streets were lined with merchants for the square had served as the marketplace before then.

After a few more turns, they were back on the main road, the square behind and the palace before them. The avenue ran straight, rising toward the palace. It was a building of such simple grandeur that without ornamentation it still could not help but dominate all of Lesalia. It was white, though the eastern wall was painted yellow by the sun, square, with a great dome at the center of the roof and tall, narrow windows along all the sides Ramia could see. A low wall surrounded it, bearing no insignia, no flags or pennants, but she knew this to be the fabled royal palace, home of Ivalice's monarch.

The gate was open and they trotted through into a flagstoned courtyard. Ramia gasped when she saw that Galvin had spoken right when he had described the palace in his letter. It was absolutely breathtaking!

"Dismount," Lord Oaks commanded as he jumped off his chocobo. Galvin immediately obeyed, but Ramia followed slower, still in awe of the palace surroundings. Grooms in white and gold livery came to take their reins. Ramia was reluctant at first to relinquish her mount, but seeing that Lord Oaks and Galvin did not protest, she relented.

As their chocobos were stabled, the trio walked across the courtyard to a door guarded by two plate-armored halberdiers. Ramia gazed around her surroundings, her mouth slightly ajar, as they marched across a high-ceilinged room with a floor of striated red marble to a second guarded door. Past this there were fewer sentinels, and the rooms became smaller, set with alcoves in which stood statues made of stone and marble and metal. Stained glass windows lined the corridors, reflecting dazzling patterns of color in the light of torches burning in ornate receptacles.

As they passed through these hallways, those who were roaming the halls paused to look at the trio, especially to a specific member. Their stares of wonder and surprise did not go unnoticed by Ramia. "Why are they looking at us like that?" she questioned Agnes, remembering to add, "my lord?", after.

"Just ignore them," he replied gruffly. "You have other things to worry about."

Ramia noticed the hint of anger and remorse in his tone of voice and wondered if she had brought up a sensitive subject. But why did their stares troubled Lord Oaks? She soon received her answer when they finally reached the practice ground.

The practice ground was designed for footwork, not cavalry practice, which was practiced outside Lesalia's walls where the plains afforded them the space. It was large enough that combatants might circle, but not so large that they might avoid one another for long. Squared, it was walled by the palace. Squires of all respective classes crowded the arena as they honed their skills.

As they entered the practice ground, they were stopped by a knight who was accompanied by his three squires. "Well, Agnes! Still have the gall to show your face around here, I see!" he exclaimed with a sneer. His shout must have been loud for all activity ceased in the arena.

Ramia looked around, puzzled on why they were attracting attention. She then looked at Lord Oaks and saw that his face was taut as he stood very still. Confused, she looked to Galvin, who shrugged, unsure of what was happening himself.

"If you're quite done," Agnes began calmly, "we'll be on our way." He tried to pass through, but the knight placed a hand on Agnes' chest and shoved him back as he said, "Not so fast."

The others laughed as Agnes fell back with a grunt. "My lord!" Galvin shouted echoed by Ramia as they rushed to his aid. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Agnes muttered as he stood up with dignity, refusing to give the others the pleasure.

"Go back to your keep, Agnes," the knight commanded mockingly. "There's no place here for those who train traitors." His order was echoed by those around him and soon the arena was in an uproar.

Ramia wondered why Lord Oaks remained impassive as they continued to taunt him. What had he done to deserve such harsh treatment? From what she learned from him, he was an honorable man that demanded the utmost respect. And now to see other knights mocking him...

Angered, she stepped forward to confront the knight who started this whole charade despite Agnes' soft protests. "You dare mock my lord, sir?" she challenged. "You've not only insulted him, but you have insulted me as well! To think that such knights exist here... You are not worthy to be called a knight, much less to act like one!" She broke off, torn between rage and embarrassment, barely hearing Agnes' murmured, "Well said, lass!"

"Insolent brat!" The knight's face was livid. "How dare you—!" He suddenly fell silent as recognition dawned on his face. "You!" he gasped. "What's your name, girl?"

Ramia raised her chin proudly as she stated: "I am Ramia Birch, squire to Lord Oaks."

There came a collective gasp in the arena and Ramia suddenly felt nervous. She looked around, seeing that the others wore the same surprised look as the knight before her.

"Ramia...Birch...?" the knight repeated slowly. "Squire..." He then began to chuckle softly. "I see now!" he exclaimed as he looked at Agnes with a knowing smile. "Interesting... To think you would be training her just like you did her mother!"

"My...mother?" Ramia whispered in shock. "How would you know my mother?"

"By the way you look," the knight simply replied. "You look just like her when she was young. There's no mistaking it. Ask Agnes. It's probably the reason why he had decided to teach you the knightly arts."

Ramia turned to Lord Oaks. "Is that true? You knew my mother?" she asked him in a whisper.

Agnes looked at the child—no—at the young woman and sighed. "Yes, it's true," he replied sadly.

"You can almost say that they were like family," the knight added casually and Ramia turned back to stare at him. "Like father and daughter. I wouldn't be surprised if he taught you the same tricks that he had taught her."

Before Ramia could question what he meant, Lord Oaks stepped forward and answered promptly, "Is that a challenge, Gyle? Do you question my methods?"

"Not your methods, Agnes, but your honor," Gyle replied indifferently. "And the honor of your squires especially that young girl there." He pointed at Ramia.

Agnes began to speak, but Ramia grasped his arm, shaking her head and saying, "No, my lord. Let me handle this." She then looked at Gyle and said, "You question our honor. Let us settle this honorably then. A duel. One of your squires against me. If I win, I want your promise that you will not impugn our honor again."

"You have it," said Gyle, laughing. "Tomorrow then we shall meet here. I'm looking forward to your defeat." With that said, he and his squires walked past them, Gyle still laughing.

"Ramia, what have you done?" Galvin whispered in awe when they left.

"The right thing," said Lord Oaks, smiling grim admiration.

* * *

Ramia's challenge issued, she had found herself feeling somewhat embarrassed to have created such commotion in the practice ground. Her words—and Gyle's responses—had been passed rapidly around the arena until every knight and squire there knew of the forthcoming duel, and after them the servants had taken word into the palace until, she felt certain, all of Lesalia must know she had challenged Gyle to prove the honor of Agnes and Galvin and hers as well. The embarrassment, however, was offset by genuine anger at Gyle's audacity.

Her first day at the capital had ended on a subdued note, terminating with the shadows lengthening on the practice ground as the sun set to the west. As the arena emptied, she had been aware of the glances cast her way, and several times overheard the comments of the nobles, mostly that they would find it entertaining if she were to lose. That only served to further strengthen her purpose. It was a deep-seated conviction that she _must_ win, for she had been trained by Lord Oaks and remembered his words of wisdom.

As the trio prepared to leave the training ground, they were graced by the arrival of a distinguished figure. Father Jaren emerged followed by Tomas as they entered the arena.

"Milord!" Agnes greeted as he bowed. Galvin and Ramia followed suit, softly muttering their greetings.

"Ah, Lord Oaks!" Jaren returned with a smile. "It's good to see you again! I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"No, Milord," Agnes shook his head. "We were about to leave. Is there anything we can do for you?"

Jaren smiled as he said, "No, thank you, Agnes. I've heard the news about a duel and came to wish the young squire good luck." He then gazed at Ramia and asked, "Is this she?"

"Yes," Agnes nodded as he beckoned Ramia forward. "Ramia, I want you to meet Father Jaren, advisor to Prince Clemence."

"It's an honor to meet you, Milord," Ramia said as she bowed, at the same time wondering why she felt uncomfortable around the man. It was strange, to say the least, for this was her first time she ever saw the priest. As Jaren came forward, she felt like running behind Lord Oaks, as a child does when they are afraid.

Jaren studied Ramia inquisitively. _Ramia... The last time you were no more than a child. Now... _He then ducked his head in acknowledgement. "As it is mine. I shall pray for your victory."

"Thank you, Milord." Ramia bowed once more before stepping back, eager to keep her distance away from the priest.

"Perhaps you should be going," Jaren turned his attention back to Agnes. "I think I've kept you here long enough."

"Not at all, Milord," Lord Oaks disagreed, "though I thank you for your concern. Before we leave, I wish to ask you one question." Jaren nodded and Agnes continued. "Will you be attending, Milord?"

"Of course," answered the priest with a grin. "I am quite looking forward to it."

* * *

Ramia was silent throughout the return home, preoccupied with her thoughts. Her first trip to the capital wasn't what she would call pleasant. After the confrontation with Gyle, the arena slowly returned to its routine as squires and knights trained, albeit reluctantly. They gave them a wide berth when they approached, as if they harbored the plague. None would talk to them, some even leaving as if they sullied the arena with their presence. Then she remembered the recent encounter with Father Jaren and her feeling of uneasiness around the priest.

Ramia wanted badly to ask Lord Oaks why the other knights resented him, but could not find the proper words. Instead, she decided to look into the matter herself, determined to find the answer. Consequently, she slept soundly, her final thought on the victory that she would surely obtain at tomorrow's duel that would show everyone that they were equals, full of honor and pride as the rest of them.

She woke well-rested, dismissing the servant who came to help her dress, bathing alone and selecting clothes she felt suitable for the occasion. Dressed in trousers overset with high boots of sturdy leather, a simple linen shirt and her sword, she went to the dining hall, where food was set.

Lord Oaks and Galvin were already present, dressed in similar fashion, though both wore sleeveless tunics bearing Lesalia's tripartite crown on chest and back, their swords at their waists.

"The duel is fought with wooden swords and bucklers," Agnes informed, "as custom dictates. But Ramia, fighters have died in these duels. Take heed."

Ramia nodded calmly. She understood the warning Lord Oaks gave and though she was still a squire, she would fight to the best of her ability, showing that she had what it takes to become a knight for already she had the heart of one.

"You are not afraid?" Galvin asked, the question rhetorical.

"No," smiled Ramia then added innocently, "Should I be?"

"No!" Agnes exclaimed with a chuckle. "Of course not! Believe you will win and you shall. Now come, eat, but sparingly."

It was, Ramia knew, wise advice; a food-filled belly was more prone to suffer from the stabbing blows of the wooden blade, and even with the light armor they would wear, such thrusts could be excruciatingly painful. As she sipped the wine that accompanied the bread and fruit she chose to break her fast, Agnes offered advice on the techniques Gyle's squire was likely to employ. She listened with a keen ear, already planning the counterattacks she would use against such techniques.

Afterwards, they rose together and marched to the stables. Soon they were riding down the hill once more to Lesalia...

* * *

When they entered the practice ground, Ramia was ready. Her limbs were loose, her concentration focused on the duel; she was aware of the audience watching from the surrounding tiers of seats, feeling the firmness of the packed soil beneath her booted feet, noting the shadows cast by the palace buildings and the areas of light where the early sun might blind her.

Gyle stood at the center with his squire, who was surprisingly a female. She was slightly tall, her light brown hair unbound, cascading to her shoulders. Her mouth was set in a grim line as her gray eyes glared at Ramia. Agnes bid Galvin to stand at the side before approaching them.

"Well met, Lord Oaks!" Gyle greeted and Agnes repeated the greeting, bringing his fist to his left shoulder before swinging it out to the side afterwards in salute as he said, "May the honorable duelist win."

With the formalities done, two men in Lesalian livery came forward, one bearing a selection of wooden swords, the other bucklers. Gyle bowed mockingly, inviting Ramia to take first pick. She studied the practice blades, hefting them and checking the wood for weaknesses.

Each one was roughly the length of her forearm from blunted tip to hilt end, constructed of straight hardwood shafts carved flat, with blunt-rimmed metal disks dividing the blades from the leather-bound hilts. She made her selection and turned to the bucklers. These were not much larger than her face, circles of fire-hardened wood overlaid with hide, held by a single wooden grip. She made her choice and stepped back.

Her opponent began her selection, turning as Agnes, a frown on his face, demanded, "And armor? Where is the armor?"

The question brought a response from the crowd and an innocent smile from Gyle. "I agreed to a duel, Lord Oaks. No mention was made of armor," he stated.

"It is customary," said Agnes.

"Lord Oaks fears for his..." Gyle paused for effect, enjoying watching Agnes fidget, before he finished, "...squire." He would have said granddaughter, would have enjoyed it in fact, but he thought it best to dishonor them in this fashion.

Ramia saw Agnes take a step forward and cried out, "There is no need of armor! I shall not hurt my opponent—too much."

Gyle's smile froze on his face. The eyes he turned toward Ramia flashed a stormy green. "Vallyn shall teach you respect, girl."

"Then shall we begin?"

All four turned towards the voice. Jaren stood among the crowd, Tomas hovering around him as usual. "May St. Ajora bless you both and may He elect the rightful victor. Let the duel begin."

Both Agnes and Gyle left the arena, leaving the two young women to face each other. Ramia studied her opponent, seeing how she moved her feet, how she balanced herself. She held her own buckler closer in, the wooden sword out to the right, waiting, unwilling to commit herself until she was sure of a stroke that would not leave her opponent crippled.

"What's the matter?" Vallyn asked mockingly. "Too afraid to fight?" Her wooden sword thrust forward to punctuate the taunt, a low, straight strike propelled by the full weight of her shoulder, directed at her opponent's abdomen. She grimaced as the blow was deflected, turning faster than Ramia had expected to counter the answering swing.

"Lord Ilde told me everything about you and Lord Oaks," Vallyn continued in a mocking tone, circling, her left arm extended to present the buckler, her wooden sword held low. "But I've sworn not to tell the truth for it would bring shame to you all as I will to you when I'm claimed the victor."

Ramia said nothing and this infuriated her opponent, for she made a sudden feint, thrusting forward at the waist, then loosing the strike to ram the buckler at Ramia's face as she brought her blade up and over, anticipating a blow to Ramia's neck.

The sword scraped Ramia's side as she turned, deflecting the buckler with her own blade and punching her opponent hard in the belly. It was less soft than Ramia had thought but still Vallyn gasped, dancing back in time to avoid the upswing of her opponent's weapon. She continued backward, crouching with her buckler protective over her midriff as Ramia advanced, knees bent, feet moving in short, shuffling steps that suddenly became larger as she drove forward, parrying Vallyn's defense to make a cut and reverse that snapped the squire's head back, then down, leaving an ugly welt along her jaw and a swelling bruise across her cheek.

Had Ramia struck with full force, her opponent's jaw would have broken. As it was, Vallyn staggered, eyes glazed, while Ramia waited, sword lowered, for her to recover. When she did, raw rage blazed in her gray eyes and she roared as she hurled herself forward, the sword crisscrossing the air before her. Ramia parried the blows, allowing Vallyn to drive her across the arena until she sensed the barricade at her back. Before Vallyn could pin her there, while triumph flashed in the squire's eyes, she ducked under the blade, spun to avoid the jab of the buckler, and kicked Vallyn's legs from under her.

Her opponent cried out as she crashed to the ground, her sword flung from her hand. Ramia stood patiently, allowing her to rise, then stopped to flick the fallen blade to the panting, furious squire.

Vallyn snatched it from the air and turned again. She advanced slowly, buckler to the fore, right arm bent at the elbow to hold the sword on a straight line, more cautious now, aware that she faced an opponent more formidable than she had anticipated. Ramia let her come, seeing hatred in the gray eyes now, extending her own buckler, her sword alongside.

They fenced for long moments, Ramia again familiarizing herself with Vallyn's—Lord Ilde's—style. She turned two thrusts, then quickly stepped back as Vallyn swung her buckler in a slashing motion across her chest, closing fast. A foot lashed out to hook her knees as the sword drove at her face. She pushed the blade away, but felt her legs go as Vallyn slammed a shoulder against her chest, toppling her off-balance. She landed on her back, legs lifting in time to send the downswinging blade to the side. Then she was rolling as Vallyn stabbed, driving the blunted tip into the earth in a torrent of blows that could have broken ribs had any landed. Voices shouted from the audience, cheering the combatants on but neither paid them heed.

Ramia then felt the sword pound earth close by her and reversed the direction of her roll, turning her body back to trap the blade and force it down flat against the dirt. Vallyn's buckler slammed hard against her shoulder, jarring her arm and bringing an unwilling grunt of pain, but she ignored it, turning again to lift her legs and thrust her feet into her opponent's stomach.

Vallyn was lifted up, then hurled back by the double kick. She tottered, arms flailing, then sat down heavily. Ramia sprang to her feet and kicked the fallen blade toward the squire. "Your blade," she said, smiling mockingly. She could not resist it.

Again she waited until Vallyn was on her feet, flexing her shoulder to ease the bruise she felt forming. Vallyn spat and screamed in rage at the insult as she charged. Ramia backed away, deflecting blows, letting her opponent tire herself, circling the arena with buckler and sword working together in defense. She went round once, then a second time, then turned a thrust, dodging inside the punching buckler to ram her own sword into Vallyn's belly.

The squire grunted, doubling over, and Ramia swung her buckler against the side of her jaw. She saw Vallyn's eyes cross as the head snapped sideways, and straightened it with a short swing that laid the flat of the wooden sword in a line from temple to chin. Vallyn went down on her knees. Then she leaned forward until both hands rested on the earth. Her head drooped, lowering until it touched the soil. Ramia stood back.

"Enough!" she heard Jaren cry. "I declare Ramia Birch the victor."

_"No!"_ Lord Ilde screamed from the side. "I refuse to acknowledge defeat! Go, Mason!" A well-built young man of medium height stepped forward from Gyle's side, carrying a Slasher in his large hands. He lumbered forward, wearing a cocky grin, his brown eyes flashing dangerously.

"It is done!" shouted Lord Oaks. "Gyle, cease this madness at once!"

Gyle shook his head once, spat, and turned back to gaze at the fight, anticipating his victory. Agnes also turned back as he looked on with worry for Mason wielded a sharp weapon while Ramia was left armorless, armed only with practice tools.

Ramia stood ready, lifting her buckler slightly, her sword raised. She was confident that she could topple this giant as easily as she defeated Vallyn. She remembered that axes were strong against defense, could actually break through one's defense, but they had their disadvantages.

Utilizing that knowledge, she was able to step to the side as the axe swung forward, easily avoiding the lumbering attack, driving her shoulder against Mason's left arm just below the angle of the shoulder. Mason yelped, staggering sideways as his left hand loosened around the shaft of his weapon. Before he could recover from the attack, Ramia took a half pace round and sideways as she rapped down with her blade, catching Mason on the right arm so that he completely dropped his axe. She then kicked the weapon away from Mason's grasp.

"It is over," Ramia stated calmly as she leveled the wooden sword on Mason's throat. "Why don't you go help your friend?"

"Don't listen to her!" Gyle shouted furiously. "Get her! Now!"

Obeying his lord's wishes, Mason lunged barehanded for Ramia's weapon. Ramia stepped to the side, raising the blade to her left shoulder. She swung it down as Mason came level, using the pommel, placing the blow carefully, measuring its force as her father had taught her. It landed against the base of Mason's neck and the squire jerked abruptly upright, his head lifting as his eyes opened wide, staring sightlessly. Then snapped shut as his body went limp and he fell, nerveless, to the dirt of the arena.

Gyle was about to send his third and final squire after Ramia, but Jaren's voice halted him. "That will be quite enough, Lord Ilde," the priest stated dispassionately. "Though it would be entertaining to see Ramia defeat your last squire, I must bring this duel to an end. I believe Ramia won fairly and honorably. Do you think otherwise?"

Gyle grounded his teeth as he tried to suppress the anger that surged within him at this humiliation. "As you will, Your Eminence." He forced the words out as he bowed slightly. He then gestured his third squire to carry Mason while Vallyn stumbled to her feet, moving awkwardly, bent from the pain in her belly. As his squires left the arena, Lord Ilde turned towards Lord Oaks and said in a cold voice, "This is far from over, Agnes. The child will soon learn the truth. How do you think she will feel when she finally discovers that she's been living a lie?" With that last threat, he left the arena.

Despite Ramia's victory, none shouted approval nor did any congratulate the promising squire with the exception of Jaren, who came down to the training ground to praise the winner personally.

"The undoubted victor," Jaren smiled. "I congratulate you, Ramia. I am pleased to see that Lord Oaks has taught you well."

Ramia became tense, fighting the urge to run away from the priest. She bowed low as she whispered, "Thank you, Milord."

They were soon joined by Galvin and Agnes much to Ramia's relief. "You fought well," Agnes told her, smiling proudly.

"And taught Lord Ilde a lesson," added Galvin.

"You've trained a fine squire, Lord Oaks," Jaren told him. "Have you thought of training her in the ways of the Holy Knight?"

Ramia gasped at this, staring at the priest in shock. She had been a squire for only a few months. How could she have the potential to become a Holy Knight?

"She would undoubtedly be the best, don't you agree?" Jaren continued. "Quite an asset to the knighthood. What do you think, Lord Oaks?"

"Yes, she does have the makings of a Holy Knight," Agnes agreed a bit slowly, "but I must think on it. She's only been a squire for a few months. It's too soon to decide."

Jaren nodded. "As you will. If you do decide to train her in the ways of the Holy Knight, know that you have my blessing." He then turned once again to Ramia. "Congratulations again, Ramia. I anticipate the day you'll become a knight and benefit the knighthood. They could use a skilled warrior like you." Ramia muttered her thanks and Jaren nodded before walking away.

Tomas gave a slight nod to Agnes before following the priest out of the arena. When the Divine Knight caught up to the priest, he asked, "Why did you make such a suggestion to Lord Oaks? What are you planning for that girl?"

"Tomas," Jaren began with extreme calm, "it's been ten years since this hunt has started. I had the misfortune of killing our one link to them. I will not do the same mistake twice."

"Are you saying that she is our link?" Tomas questioned.

"Of course," Jaren smiled. "Who else would suit better than the child of a heretic?"

* * *

Many questions poured into Ramia's mind as they journeyed back to Oaks Keep much like yesterday. Why, after winning the duel fairly, did the others still resent them? Why did Father Jaren suggest that she train to be a Holy Knight? What did Vallyn meant when she said that the truth would bring shame to them all? What _was _the truth? Was Lord Oaks hiding something from her?

Determined to find the answer, she decided to confront Lord Oaks as soon as they reached the keep. Her goal set, she tried to enjoy what was left of the ride.

As soon as they reached the stables of the keep and dismounted, Lord Oaks immediately went into the keep. Ramia immediately ran after him, resolved on accomplishing her mission. She never knew Lord Oaks could walk so fast, almost losing him among the halls of the bastion.

Agnes knew that Ramia was following him. He was deliberately leading Ramia to a place where he felt the most comfortable: the window at the foyer. It was there that he stopped and looked out. He heard Ramia approaching from behind and knew the questions that were burning within her mind. Before she could voice them out, he spoke: "You wish to know the truth of why the other nobles loathe us. You wish for me to explain why Father Jaren suggested that you train in the ways of the Holy Knight." He then turned and looked at her as he asked, "Isn't that right, Ramia?"

"Yes," Ramia replied in a serious tone. "What secrets do you hide, Lord Oaks? Does Galvin know of them?"

"No and I wish for it to remain that way until the time comes for me to pass on. As for you..." He took a deep breath and sighed as he shook his head. "I cannot tell you...yet."

"Why?" Ramia demanded. "Why later and not now?"

"Please be patient, Ramia," Agnes urged. "The truth will reveal itself at its own time. You must only wait."

Ramia sighed. "Very well, Lord Oaks," she conceded as she bowed slightly. "I shall honor your wish." She left on that final note, seeking the gardens to ease her troubled mind and heart.

_I'm sorry, Ramia_, he thought darkly as he watched her leave, _but I cannot let you know or risk more humiliation. There's enough disgrace in our family already... _He then turned back to gaze out the window, remembering that night all those years ago when he had led Lavian and her friends through a secret passage out of the castle and Lesalia instead of arresting them as was his duty. He knew then that he was committed and could not turn back: his path was chosen...

Agnes Oaks would make sure that his granddaughter shall not make the same choice that he and Agrias had made, remaining free from the chains that bound him to his sin and the sin of his daughter, to be the light that shines through this dark era of his family's history...

* * *

The year went by quickly and the next, both squires training under Agnes' tutelage, dueling with reluctant squires at the palace, and fighting mock battles on the plains of Lesalia. Soon Agnes judged Galvin ready to become a knight at the age of eighteen. A letter was sent to Limberry informing his family of the news.

Two weeks after the letter was sent, the Birch family arrived and preparations were made for the knighting ceremony, a date set.

Now it was the night before the ceremony.

Galvin entered the chapel of the keep donned in clean white garments. He was alone for this was the time of prayer and fasting when he asked God to guide him when he becomes a knight. He laid prostrated on the floor before the altar where his sword was placed in front of a miniature statue of St. Ajora. He spent the night in that position and when came morning, he rose with great difficulty, weak from fasting and from lying. He approached the altar, reverently taking his sword in both hands while saying a little prayer to St. Ajora before he girded it about his waist. This act signified the significance of the event: a knight was belted with the sword of knighthood. The all-night vigil complete, he left the chapel, making his way down to the entry hall where the accolade, the act which served as the culmination of the knighting ceremony, would take place.

His family was there, both grandparents and parents, among with other nobles from Limberry. Though those nobles resented Alex's decision for Galvin to train under Lord Oaks, they still honored the Birch family for they ranked the highest in the Aegis Knighthood of Limberry and it was good to see the tradition continued.

Lord Oaks stood in the middle, leaning on his sword, while Ramia stood to his side holding a breastplate. As Galvin approached them, the hall became silent as those that attended watched.

He soon stood face to face with Lord Oaks who asked in a loud voice: "Galvin Birch, why do you wish to become a knight?"

In which Galvin replied in equal measure: "To protect and serve the people and to serve God."

"Then kneel."

Galvin fell to one knee as Agnes raised his sword. "In the name of God and St. Ajora," Agnes began as he laid the flat of the blade on Galvin's shoulder, "I dub thee, Sir Galvin Birch," he concluded as he tapped Galvin's other shoulder with the blade.

Cheers rang throughout the hall as Galvin stood up. Ramia came forward with his breastplate followed by his grandfather and father carrying helmet and shield, respectively.

"New armaments for the new knight," Alex smiled as he presented the shield to his son.

"Thank you, father." He then adorned himself with the gifts.

"Let us celebrate this momentous occasion!" Lord Oaks bellowed as soon as Galvin was finished. He then steered his guests to the dining hall where a marvelous feast awaited them.

Three years later, Ramia found herself in a similar position...

* * *

Ramia marched proudly to the royal throne room dressed in a white robe, accompanied by Agnes who strode in front of her while Galvin, who had decided to continue serving Lord Oaks after his knighting, took the rear. Both men were adorned in their finest armor for the occasion, shining magnificently as they passed through the sunlit corridors of the Imperial Palace.

Unlike Galvin's knighting ceremony, which was simplistic in form, Ramia's was quite the opposite for she had been trained in the ways of the Holy Knight. Galvin was not the least bit jealous. Actually, he was proud of her. Training had been quite difficult for her especially for the last three years, but she had completed it and was going to be awarded for her efforts.

Soon, they entered the throne room, packed with high nobles. She was awed by the splendor of the room, especially by the ceiling from which hung the banners of those serving the royal family including Lord Oaks' and her family's. She then quickly looked forward as Lord Oaks and Galvin brought her in and left her standing among the four who would also be knighted as Holy Knights for these were the best Lesalia had to offer.

They stood before the throne, where Prince Clemence waited, dressed in purple and gold, Jaren and Tomas standing to either side of him. This was the first time Ramia had seen of the prince. He looked to be a sickly man, contrary to the wise and strong ruler of Ivalice she had imagined, his face gaunt, the eyes vacant. His long pale—bordering on white—hair hung limply about his head as he sat slouched on the throne. She then frowned when he yawned as if the knighting ceremony was a trivial matter, wondering angrily how he could be a prince of the kingdom. It was an insult to her and to all those who were being knighted that noon.

As soon as Lord Oaks and Galvin took their place among the nobles, silence filled the room. Prince Clemence rose, and as he did, the five candidates for knighthood knelt. The prince gave a pompous speech before calling each of the candidates forward to be blessed by Jaren and knighted by his hands.

Agnes smiled when it was finally Ramia's turn. He looked on with pride as she stepped forward and knelt before the priest with her head bowed low. Jaren invoked the blessing of St. Ajora as he anointed Ramia's head with oil. He then stepped back as Clemence approached, raising his sword, delivering the accolade silently. "Rise, Lady Ramia Birch," he declared afterwards, "and welcome!"

Ramia rose and bowed, her eyes alight with joy.

When the last of the candidates was blessed and knighted, Jaren announced, "These Holy Knights are approved before St. Ajora. Let all here know and ask His blessing on their attainment."

Clemence followed, saying, "These Holy Knights are sanctioned in the eyes of Ivalice. Let all here know that."

"We are Holy Knights in the eyes of St. Ajora and Ivalice," the candidates declared in unison. "We shall serve them faithfully from this day forth."

Jaren raised both hands, palms outward, as he intoned a prayer to end the ceremony. The throne room then rang with the shouting of the nobles as each of the Holy Knights were given their symbols of authority—sword, shield, armor, and helmet—all blessed by the Church.

As Clemence led the celebrants to the banquet that waited in the hall beyond, Lord Gyle stood at a remote corner of the room, watching with narrowed eyes at the triumphant smile that curved Agnes' lips. He had not completely forgiven the insult dealt him when his squire was defeated by Agnes' upstart squire—now Holy Knight. "An eye for an eye..." he muttered darkly as he turned away. "We'll see who'll be smiling in the end..."

* * *

Agnes sipped on a small cup of brandy as he looked out his window, the lights of Lesalia glowing brightly so that he could faintly see the wall that surrounded the huge city. He had returned from the palace, along with Ramia and Galvin, the celebration that lasted the whole day having exhausted them. The two had immediately sought the comfort of their beds. He, on the other hand, was still brimming with happiness at the event. His goal had finally been reached, his keep secure for future generations now that Ramia had attained the rank of knighthood. It was almost as much happiness as he could imagine. He threw back his head and laughed—softly—into the night. He had never experienced such joy since...

Since the day Ramia was born.

Similar to her birth that marked the beginning of her life, today marked the start of her life as a knight. The slate had finally been cleaned, the seedling had sprouted. All was turning out as he had planned. With that thought in mind, he emptied his cup, placing it down on a small table next to his bed where a single lit candle glowed softly.

Suddenly, the small flame flickered as if a small breeze blew, but none of his windows were open. He quickly drew out a concealed dagger from beneath the sleeve of his sleeping robe, his mind yelling danger, as he looked up in time to avoid being pierced by an intruder's sword.

Candlelight revealed a figure cloaked in black, its face hidden behind a mask. Agnes knew who he faced, or more specifically, what kind of enemy he faced: a dark assassin, a ninja.

This worried him somewhat. Ninjas were hired mercenaries that specialize in assassinations and espionage. They were also very expensive and they rarely failed in accomplishing their missions. It seemed that this ninja was hired to kill him, but by whom?

As he tried to find the answer, the ninja spoke in a cold tone that sent a chill down his spine: "Time to clear the forest of all oaks." A shuriken flew from its hand, not towards its quarry, but towards the single candle.

The room suddenly went dark.

* * *

Without delay, Ramia rolled out of her bed, pulling a knife from beneath her pillow just as a slender sword stabbed the place where she had been sleeping a few moments ago. "Who are you?" she demanded the intruder as she brandished her weapon.

"The woodsman," the figure replied coolly as it removed its sword from the mattress. "And I've come to chop you down." It then jumped towards Ramia, the sword raised to strike, thinking that the girl would try to block it with her puny weapon.

But she thought otherwise as she rolled forward _towards_ her adversary, landing on her feet, and as the intruder was about to land from his jump, she held up her knife towards it, letting gravity do the work as the body fell against the sharp object. Ramia felt blood spill over her hands as the twelve inch blade buried itself to the hilt in the torso of her would-be assassin. She let go of the grip and stepped back, watching as the figure feebly tried to pull the knife from its belly. It only succeeded in making a soft cry before falling over, dead.

Ramia stared in disbelief at the dead body. This was the first time she had taken a life and it was not a pleasant feeling. She was relieved to have survived the brief encounter and yet wondered if she should be elated or sad to have taken a life needlessly. But she assured herself that it had been necessary in order to defend herself. Consequently it led her wondering why it had come to kill her.

Ramia decided to report this little incident to Lord Oaks now, whether he was sleeping or not. Someone wanted her dead and she needed to know why. Perhaps Agnes could provide her with an answer.

Taking proper precautions—for there may be more than one assassin lurking in the keep—she shed her bloodied nightgown in favor of shirt and trousers. Sword in hand, she cracked the door open and peered out into the moonlit hall. Seeing that it was clear, she slowly exited the room and went down the corridor, fully aware of her surroundings as she made her way to Lord Oaks' room.

As she neared, she faintly heard the sounds of a struggle. Pushing all caution aside, she drew her sword as she ran towards the chamber, kicking the door open in time to find that she was too late as she witnessed the assassin plunge its sword into Lord Oaks' body.

_**"No!" **_Ramia screamed in righteous anger, her sword flaring brightly, summoned by her power as a Holy Knight.

She raised her sword as she intoned: "The doom of a planet..." The assassin removed its sword from its victim and lunged towards Ramia, intent on finishing the mission its partner failed to accomplish before she could finish her summon. But it had underestimated its opponent as Ramia finished, swinging her sword towards the assassin as she shouted: **_"Crush Punch!"_**

A magical spike burst forth beneath the assassin, impaling the ninja, instantly killing it. The spike then retreated back into the earth and, as the ninja's body fell lifelessly to the floor, Ramia quickly sheathed her sword and ran to Lord Oaks' side.

Agnes was leaning against the side of his bed, clutching his wound in a futile attempt to staunch the flow of blood that continued to pour in an endless pool around him. "My lord!" Ramia exclaimed as she knelt by his side, wondering if there was anything she could do to help.

"What happened?"

Ramia immediately turned to see Galvin standing at the door with Demitri, who held a candelabra. "Get a chemist, quickly!" she ordered them, knowing that time was running out for Lord Oaks. Aware of the dire situation, both men immediately responded, hurrying to the stables. The only place they could retrieve a chemist was at the capital.

"Don't bother..." Ramia turned again to her wounded lord, who took a shuddering breath before continuing: "It's too late... Nothing...can help me now..."

"Don't say that, my lord!" Ramia urged fiercely, her hazel eyes piercing. "Galvin and Demitri _will_ return here with a chemist and you shall be well again!"

Agnes chuckled softly which soon turned into a fitting cough. When he had finally caught his breath, he said, "You have truly...inherited the spirit...of your mother... She said...exactly the...same...thing when...her mother...was dying..."

"My grandmother?" Ramia whispered in shock, wondering how well Agnes knew of her family.

"My wife..." Agnes amended.

"Your...wife...?" Ramia nearly swooned from the revelation, still trying to recover from her initial shock. "Then that means—!"

"Oaks Keep...is your home," Agnes continued as if Ramia hadn't spoken. He then reached for something around his neck and, with his other hand, grabbed Ramia's hand and placed the object onto her palm, closing her fingers over it afterwards. "You must...carve out your own path...from now on..." he said, his voice gradually growing weaker as he kept his hand over Ramia's. "Only you...can decide...what you...make of it... Never forget that..." He then closed his eyes as he took another shuddering breath.

"My lord...?" Ramia called hesitantly, afraid that he had already gone, but was relieved when those blue orbs opened.

"Ramia..." Agnes tried to smile but it came out into a slight wince but Ramia could see the joy conveyed in his eyes. "I'm glad to have seen you grown...into a beautiful...woman..." He then repeated the last words he had spoken to her on that fateful day fifteen years ago: "Know that I love you...and you'll always be close...to my heart..." And sighed the last part: "My granddaughter..."

"Wait, Lord Oaks! What do you mean?" Ramia cried out as she felt his hand go limp. She knew then that she would have to find her answers to her many questions by another way.

"What do you mean?" she whispered as she stared into his sightless eyes. "Granddaughter..." She then opened her hand to see what Agnes had given her in his last moments.

A key.

Was this the key to unlocking the answers to all her questions?


	14. To the Old Land

**Chapter Thirteen: To the Old Land**

Silence filled the room save for the soft roaring of the fire in the hearth and the occasional wind rattling the windows as Beoulves and Hyrals ate dinner. It was a meal of simple fare consisting of only bread and stew.

Normally, dinners were quite animated in the Beoulve home but as of late, it had become quite dull. Ramza had noticed the change in the Hyrals' eating patterns earlier in the week. Raizen, who usually ate with a healthy appetite, now ate slowly, pausing every so often while his father seemed to move like Worker 8, unconsciously tearing a piece of his bread and dipping it into his stew, his mind wandering somewhere else.

Ramza couldn't take the silence any longer. "Enough," he said gently as he placed his spoon down. His voice seemed to bring back father and son from wherever they had thrust their minds into when they blinked and looked at him dazedly.

"Is there something you two want to discuss?" Ramza asked in concern. "These past nights, you both have been acting unlike yourselves. This...worries me."

"Thank you for your concern, Ramza," Delita said kindly, "but you have nothing to worry about. I've just been...doing a lot of thinking lately. It does not concern you or Alma so please don't worry."

"It may not concern us," Alma inserted, wiping her mouth with a napkin before continuing, "but you do not have to carry the burden alone. Please, speak with us. What is it that troubles you?"

Delita thought for a moment, deciding on whether to tell his decision or not to the Beoulve siblings. It's true that it did not concern them, but it did concern their home. On that note, he decided to tell them, willing to have their support in this matter.

"I've thought about going home," he began softly. "I believe it's time Raizen takes his rightful place as Crown Prince of Ivalice and for me to resume my position as King. The wind of change is blowing and I'm willing to let it carry us off into a bright future."

Ramza and Alma sat silently as they absorbed the news. They knew that one day, Delita and Raizen would return to their homeland. It's been seven years since they had come to live with them and during those years they had seen them change remarkably.

Raizen had grown into a fine young man, tall, slender, with hair the color of honey that flowed to his shoulders in soft waves. He was well-built yet lacked the heavy muscles of his father. His eyes were penetrating, dazzling with intelligence, always seeming to read the other's mind. Ramza had certainly stated the obvious when he had first seen Raizen during that stormy night for the boy had grown to look like his mother.

As Raizen had grown physically over the years, Delita had grown spiritually. When he had first arrived, he had been a broken man, trying to make amends of his past mistakes by raising a son who had no clue about his past. Only when had he arrived here and told them of those mistakes did he start to change. He had accepted his past and now stood to face the future bravely with his son by his side.

Ramza nodded in acceptance. "When will you leave?"

"Perhaps tomorrow," Delita replied then shrugged. "Perhaps the day after. But know this, it shall be _soon_." He then leaned back against his chair as he added casually, "You are welcomed to join us, Ramza, and you too, Alma."

"I told you before, I'm not going back," Ramza said sharply, glancing briefly at Alma for her to keep silent before resuming his dinner.

"Won't you reconsider?" Delita asked almost pleadingly.

"No," was Ramza's only answer.

* * *

Few more days passed before Delita deemed it time to leave. Chocobos saddled and bags packed, it was time to say farewell to the Beoulves.

"I hate good-byes," Alma sniffed as she hugged Raizen then Delita. "I want you two to take good care of yourselves. Make Ivalice into a proud land once more."

Delita nodded. "You can be sure of it." He then turned to Ramza, who shook his head, and said, "No matter how many times you ask, the answer remains the same. Farewell, Delita, and if you see the others, give them my regards."

"I had hoped you would tell them yourself," Delita began then nodded as he finished, "but I shall tell them nonetheless." He then turned to Alma and said with a smirk, "I don't know how you could live with your stubborn brother, but I take it that you shall continue to watch over him. You were always a good sister to him. Maybe someday you could convince him to come home."

"I will try," Alma conceded. "But as you said," she glanced at her brother's direction where he was talking to Raizen, "he is stubborn."

Delita chuckled softly. "That he is!" he exclaimed jovially before hugging her once more. "Thank you for everything, Alma. Take care."

"No hug for me?"

The group turned to see Kyshon with a wide smile across his face, entering the yard. "And I came here hoping to have a card game with the lot of you." He then gazed at the chocobos. "Going on a trip?"

"Delita and Raizen are returning home," Ramza replied, "to Ivalice."

Kyshon blinked in surprise. "Ivalice?" he exclaimed incredulously. "Few travel to Ivalice nowadays but of course, you wouldn't know that being that you live in seclusion."

"What do you mean by that?" Delita demanded of the gambler. "Ivalice depends on Ordallia for trade. Did King Valowa reduce all trade? If so, then I'll—"

"No, it's not that," Kyshon interrupted with a shake of his head. "Something's been happening in Ivalice," he looked at them gravely, his smile now gone, "and it's not pretty. Care for me to explain?"

* * *

Out in the plains of Ordallia, hawks screeched as they circled the sky and deer bellowed as they grazed the grass. The trees of a nearby forest rustled softly as a breeze passed between their branches while a small creek trickled through the forest and into the plains where foxes stood on the banks and drank. It was another day full of the sounds of life.

But it was silent as death at the Beoulve home.

The group sat silently, each delved into their own thoughts as they absorbed Kyshon's tale of the happenings in Ivalice. The gambler studied each of their faces as he poured himself a cup of tea, seeing the worry in their eyes and the disbelief especially on Ramza's face.

Delita also looked at Ramza glaringly as he asked sternly, "_Now_ would you reconsider?" Ramza did not reply, only gazed down at the table, which further angered the monarch. "Ramza!" he shouted as he pounded the table in frustration of his friend's stubbornness. "Do you think your friends are still safe despite what Kyshon has told us? When will you—"

"Now listen here!" Ramza yelled fiercely as he abruptly rose from his chair and glowered at Delita. "This is all _your_ fault!" He pointed an accusing finger at the monarch. "If you hadn't left Ivalice, none of this would have happened!"

"But it has and I intend to remedy it," Delita countered calmly. "The question still remains, Ramza. What will you do?"

Ramza did not answer immediately as he stared at each of their expectant faces before shifting his gaze to the window. Silently, he turned and left the cottage.

"Ramza!" Delita shouted as he quickly followed, the others no far behind. "I can't believe it!" he gasped after as he saw Ramza ride away on his chocobo, not towards Ivalice, but away from it. "Running away?" he shouted as he tried to run after him, but Ramza had an early start and the monarch was unable to catch him. "Coward!" he cried after as Ramza disappeared into the horizon.

"Don't judge him."

Delita turned to see Alma staring off into the distance before turning to him adding, "Yet..."

* * *

Ramza raced through the plains, having no clear destination in mind. Birds on the wayside took flight as he approached while bison snorted a challenge when he neared. Foxes watched curiously from the brush as deer galloped away in search of safer grazing grounds.

He continued to ride blindly through the plains, paying no heed to his surroundings, only to the grim news of Kyshon and the harsh words of Delita echoing in his mind...

And in his heart.

_Coward!_

_Am I...a coward?_, Ramza mused then shook his head adamantly. _No! I left Ivalice so they would be safe! This is all Delita's fault! He shouldn't have left...shouldn't have..._

_...I intend to remedy it. The question still remains, Ramza. What will you do?_

_What will I do?_, Ramza repeated to himself.

_Do you think your friends are still safe despite what Kyshon has told us?_

_But if I do return, wouldn't they be in more danger?_, Ramza asked himself. _Wouldn't it be best if I remained here? _

He wished it to be so, but knew in his heart that it was not to be. His friends' lives were in danger and he was not one to ignore those in need.

And his friends need him now, more than ever.

He then chuckled as he brought his chocobo to a halt under the branches of a lone tree atop a hill where it afforded them a good view of the countryside. He dismounted and gazed at the beautiful scenery for it may be his last time to view peaceful Ordallia.

Suddenly, a pang of guilt gripped his heart for while he was enjoying the peace this country offered, his friends had been fraught with peril that denied them that peace. Ramza knew without a doubt in his mind that he must return to Ivalice to deliver them that peace.

"Well, Boco," he spoke to his mount as he rubbed his feathers, "we're called back into battle once more. So much for a peaceful life." He then smirked as he jumped into the saddle and steered Boco back home adding, "But a little excitement couldn't hurt."

Boco warked in agreement as he carried Ramza home, the sun setting before them...

* * *

"He's not coming back," Delita muttered darkly as he paced around the common room, every so often looking out the window, hoping to see any sign of Ramza.

The day had passed quickly and now it was twilight. The others had passed the day doing mundane tasks around the cottage, trying to occupy themselves, doing anything to get Kyshon's haunting tale off their minds.

Now night approached and as Alma prepared supper, Delita continued his pacing. At the table, Raizen and Kyshon—who had decided to stay, curious to know what path Ramza would take—idly played a game of cards. Besides Delita's occasional grumbling, none were in the mood to talk.

Not really in the culinary mood, Alma stirred the pot of simple stew that was brewing in the fireplace, and when she found it ready, began ladling soup into four bowls. Night was already upon them, the hearth's soft glow effectively giving light throughout the cottage as does the sun during the day.

Everyone ate their meal in silence, none having much of an appetite save for Kyshon who heartily devoured his meal. He knew it was rude, given the circumstances, but he could not stand the silence and was willing to make as much noise as possible for he was a rowdy person by nature. Rarely did he experience such solemn affairs—in truth, he tried to avoid such events—but this...

This was grave indeed.

Again, he studied each of their faces and saw the turmoil there. He wished he could give any words of comfort, but he was not the sentimental type and was afraid that whatever comfort he could give would end up turning into a bad joke. So, he just sighed as he ate the rest of his food.

Delita thought he would burst into another tirade as each minute passed by. It was enough that Ramza had gone away into the plains, but to remain there for the whole day...

"Coward," he muttered softly, holding his spoon tightly between his fingers. The others looked at him; denial on Alma's face, puzzlement on Raizen's, and curiosity on Kyshon's.

"A fool and a coward!" Delita slammed his spoon down on the table. "Let the deaths of his friends be on his head!"

"There's no reason to shout."

As one, everyone turned towards the voice. Ramza stood at the doorway wearing a placid smile on his face. He entered, closing the door softly behind, and helped himself with a bowl of Alma's stew before joining the others at the table, sitting at his usual chair. He began to eat with a healthy appetite, quite aware of the others' questioning stares, or in the case of Delita's, glare.

Ramza knew that they awaited his answer, awaited his decision; whether to go back or not. Again, the lives of his friends weighed on this decision as much as all the other decisions he had made during the Lion War.

As soon as he emptied his bowl, he sighed in satisfaction. "A good meal," he remarked as he sat back against his chair, "as a last meal should be."

The others were taken aback by that comment, even Delita whose scowl softened into a slight frown of confusion. "Tomorrow we shall leave for the village of Locar and from there, make our way to Ivalice," Ramza informed them. "The journey should take at least two weeks, certainly no more than three."

Silence followed the pronouncement. It was later broken by Alma who said: "So we're finally going home."

"Yes," Ramza nodded with a sigh. "Home. With a bounty on my head." He then shook his head. "Despite that, I cannot ignore those in need."

"And it took you all this time to figure that out?" Delita snorted. "Stubborn fool..."

Ramza silently accepted the remark for it certainly rang with a bit of truth. He was indeed a fool for thinking that his friends would be safe if he left them, more of a fool for sticking to that belief. He wondered then of what his friends would say if he did return. Would they welcome him as a friend or reject him for leaving them behind?

There was more to this decision than he had thought, but he had already decided and so, can only go forward, hoping for the best.

Kyshon looked thoughtfully at Ramza, seeing his friend's apprehension. It seemed that Ramza not only gambled for gil, but also risked his own life for the sake of others. The stakes are piled high against his friend, yet he admired his courage to face such odds.

That was the spirit of a true gambler.

"Though the odds are against you, you still wish to go?" the gambler asked curiously and when Ramza nodded, he grinned. "You are truly the best gambler in all Ordallia to face such odds. I would be honored to travel with the likes of you."

Delita was about to protest against Kyshon's wish, but frowned when his son exclaimed, "That would be great! I've always wanted to see you in action especially with your cards."

"Yes," Ramza agreed. "There is safety in numbers and I wouldn't mind the extra help."

Alma expressed her thanks to the gambler while Delita scowled in disapproval, choosing to remain silent.

"Then it's settled!" Kyshon exclaimed cheerfully. "So, when do we leave?"

"In the morning," Ramza replied.

* * *

The cottage stood empty, the light of the rising sun slowly bathing it in its yellow glow, as its occupants stood outside, the light wind rustling through the yard.

_So, this is it. After I throw this torch, I'm never coming back. My life as an Ordallian ends here. The fires that will consume this cottage will be the flames of my rebirth as an Ivalician. Such is fate. Such is life._

Ramza gazed at his home, a torch burning in his hand. The others stood behind him, waiting, hoping.

The cottage door stood open, inviting those outside to enter. It would be easy to abandon the journey and continue living undisturbed. All Ramza need do is enter...

_No!_, he thought angrily, his hold tightening on the torch. _My friends need me! I will go to their aid despite the danger! I will not abandon them! _

With that thought burning in his mind, he let fly the torch towards the opened portal. It landed and rolled on the floor before its fire started to consume the wooden planks. All watched as that small flame slowly became a raging inferno that consumed all...

But their memories.

Ramza silently turned away from the burning cottage and mounted his chocobo, the others following suit. Only having three chocobos for the journey, Alma rode with her brother while Kyshon took his place with Raizen. Seeing everyone ready, Ramza took the lead, heeling his chocobo forward.

As they rode down the dirt path that would lead them to the main road, Alma turned back to see what had become of her home for the past twenty years. Flames soared high towards the sky as timber blackened and groaned as they fell. Nothing was to remain of the place once the fires would die.

Such as it should be.

There was no turning back.

There was only one path to take.

Alma quickly dashed her tears away as she turned to look forward once more. She had to be strong as her brother and her friends. Determined to show no fear for it was natural for humans to fear the unknown, she stared ahead, her jaw set, her eyes glaring.

_Father, watch over us_, she prayed as they turned onto the main road and headed west towards Locar...

...and inevitably to Ivalice.

* * *

The plain stretched out before them, given over to grass and small farms, the only obstacles seeming to be the trees that sheltered the holdings from the wind.

It had been this way for the next three days, the land rising and falling somewhat but never dramatically, the gently rolling terrain stretching out on all sides until they came to the village Locar. It was a small rural community, the houses built small and far apart to accommodate the various storehouses used to hold the harvest and to raise the livestock. They halted there, sleeping under roofs for the first time since leaving the cottage.

The next morning a cheerful sun climbed its way through the sky, painting the village with golden light as they continued their westward progress cheered afresh by the warmth of Locar's hospitality.

By mid-afternoon the plains gave way to a less even landscape, and on the horizon bulked a vast mountain range dark with timber. Delita and Raizen found the mountains intimidating especially when they caught sight of one of the peaks glowing a blood red in the light of the setting sun. They soon learned the mount was named Red Hill not only because of its color, but because of its grisly history.

As they sat around the campfire that evening, Kyshon explained the significance of the distant peak and the vale that surrounded it. Just like Ivalice before it was united, Ordallia was divided into three kingdoms. One night when a star shot across the sky, a prince was born to the Kingdom of Nerk. This prince's name would forever echo in the land of Ordallia:

Kamu.

It was Prince Kamu who had the courage to unite the three kingdoms of Ordallia. It was a bloody campaign, Red Hill being the final battle...and the bloodiest.

After defeating the kingdom of Murat, Kamu marched to the vale named Newan to meet with the waiting warriors of King Kale of Roshic. Several running engagements took place between the opposing forces commencing at the opening of the vale and gradually, the army of Prince Kamu gained the advantage, forcing Kale's forces further and further up the vale.

They tried to make a stand at the crest, but were defeated by the superior forces under Kamu, and fleeing up the mount, thousands were pursued and driven over the steep ridge to their deaths. The victory was so complete that none of the Roshic army that got into the upper part of the vale escaped.

It was said that the soldiers' blood painted the rocks red, giving the mount its name. Even now, centuries after that battle, the stones were still covered in blood, the light of the setting sun showing its grisly radiance.

For years the path crossing Red Hill was no more than a chocobo trail twisting around the base of the notched ridge. Then a century after that fateful battle, a town was built at the foot of the mount. During construction, workers found an estimated eight-hundred skulls and other assorted human bones—the one hundred-year-old remains of Kale's defeated warriors. They buried these warriors under hundreds of tons of earth far away from the town, finally uniting them with the land they died defending.

Despite the location, the town was still built and was now a thriving community, commanding the trail that ran through the hill. They reached the town—Ramil, it was called—at the end of their third day out of Locar, the lights shining through the gloom, filling them all with welcomed anticipation of hot baths and wine, food and soft beds.

Ramil was a settlement of some size, commanding the approach to Red Hill. A few citizens greeted them as they entered the city's walls, always welcoming travelers to their humble town. They stabled their chocobos and went to the inn where they reserved their rooms. As in Locar, they ate and rested, quitting the town early the next day.

The innkeeper warned them that he expected to see rain fall before they crested Red Hill. Nonetheless it was a cheerful party that rode out through the western gate.

Almost immediately the road began to climb, gently at first, but then steeper, as high timber clustered ever closer on all sides until they moved along an avenue of trees and rocks. As the gradient steepened, the trail began to meander, following ridges, traversing the rising terrain in sweeping curves, the dense woodland denying sight of the way ahead so that their journeying assumed a timeless quality, confined within the walls of the forest. Ash and pine rendered the air sweet, preferable, despite the increasing chill.

"Rain comes," Ramza announced. "Tonight."

"How do you know?" Raizen looked to the expanse of sky visible between the treetops and saw only a bluish gray silvered by the sun.

"Smell it," Ramza grunted and fell back into silence.

He was right for when they halted that night, pulling off the trail into a clearing ringed by looming ash, a soft drizzle began to fall, lending the campsite a misty air, waterproof cloaks appearing from saddlebags. They constructed makeshift shelters from the numerous branches lying on the ground and settled down. Building a fire was of no use so they settled with eating dried meat.

"There's another town at the crest of this rise," Ramza stated as he bit into his dried meat, "then only woodland until we reach the central Ordallian plateau, at the heart of which stands the capital, Bura. From there, Zarghidas Trade City and Ivalice, is just a few days travel."

Mention of their home seemed to produce conflicting feelings in Delita, and Raizen sensed that he was torn between his desire to rule his kingdom peacefully and his disappointment that he should return at a time of strife.

"We're close," Alma commented wistfully, her eyes gazing distantly to the west as if her sight could pierce through the trees to look upon her homeland. "How I longed to return home!"

Ramza was troubled by his sister's words. He wished he could share her happiness, watching her now as she spoke cheerfully about her home to Kyshon, who had never traveled beyond the borders of Ordallia. Nor did Raizen, as he too joined Alma and Kyshon, eager to hear more about the kingdom he would one day rule.

"It's best we get some sleep."

Ramza turned, recognizing Delita's voice, and smiled thinly. "This is not easy for you."

Delita snorted. "Nor for you. Face it, Ramza. We're both afraid, afraid for our friends, afraid for our people, afraid—"

"Of the unknown," Ramza finished softly then sighed. "Who knows what awaits us beyond the border."

"No use thinking about it." Delita stretched out as he composed himself for sleep. "Let's just worry about the present." He then turned away, his back facing Ramza.

Ramza watched a moment longer before turning to regard the others. They were already asleep, prone beneath their lean-tos as the soft rain began to pour heavily. He sighed again as he listened to the rain pound endlessly on the roof of his shelter, watched as it ran down rivulets along the trees' trunks, the branches sagging down heavily as if the rain placed a burden on them.

It seemed to place a burden on his heart.

The journey, for all the good he knew it did, was not easy.

The next day they traversed increasingly broken terrain, the trail dropping steeply into gullies and crossing streams beginning to swell with the threat of flooding. The timber gave way to sheer peaks that loomed about them. The rain seemed to have held off only to gain strength, for it began to lash their camp at dawn and by the time they set out it had become a downpour that masked the way ahead behind a pall of gray, driving into faces and eyes so that they rode slump-shouldered, as though driven down by the weight of liquid cascading from the sky.

Their camp that night was wet and less cheerful than usual, cold with the wind that clattered the branches of the surrounding trees. Soon after dawn they started out again, clothing clammy beneath the waterproof cloaks, the chocobos fretful at the ceaseless downpour, as the group continued their seemingly unending ascent of the heights.

It went on throughout that day and all of the next and they did not reach Falken until the middle of the third day.

The town sat precarious as an eagle's nest on the very edge of the cliff, its walls seeming an extension of the rock, the trail emptying on a shelf before the gates, which stood open on a large staging area flanked by wooden buildings. Their approach had been watched and as they entered the eastern plaza, they were greeted warmly, both from the citizens of the town and the travelers who were making their way out the gates.

Once again, they ate and rested—and asked townsfolk about the trading situation with Ivalice, none of the news promising than what Kyshon had already told them. However, they learned that rain had been falling for several days on the uplands, but that as best the town knew the road ahead was dry enough for safe travel, the going relatively easy after the climb.

They left Falken with the sun rising like a disk of polished silver against a sky of sparkling pure blue, the road ahead glistening in the brilliant light. The chocobos' clawed feet scraped against mud and pine needles, setting a brisk pace as they drove into the great mass of trees. There was an air of mounting anticipation as they rode into the forest that spread dense all around. They were closer to the completion of their journey, Falken being the halfway point.

For two days they traversed the woodlands, encountering only two small villages akin to Locar, the villagers eager to provide what hospitality they might. At night they heard wolves howl, but the wild predators stayed clear of them, not yet driven by hunger to attack the chocobos.

On the third day the forest thinned along the banks of a river sufficiently shallow they were able to ford the stream without difficulty, the timber steadily declining thereafter in both size and density until they rode across country mostly open. Low hills bulked to the north, rising into the distance, but the road they followed ran due west, scoured by the wind that began to blow once they reached the flatlands. There were occasional falls of rain, but never enough to impede their progress and they made good time. The sun shone bright for most of the way, a welcome from the bone-numbing chill of the wind.

A day from the forest they came upon a town, walled, it now seemed, as much for defense against the elements as against invasion, and found beds for the night.

Four days later, they reached Bura.

* * *

Bura, Royal Capital of Ordallia.

It stood in defense of Ordallia, built during the time of Kamu of Nerk, after the unification of the three kingdoms. To the surprise of the vanquished, Kamu had proven as generous in victory as he was merciless in war, and Bura had grown steadily. Murat and Roshic alike had sent trusted men to participate in the councils the prince of Nerk established, their words heard and acted upon until Bura became the legitimate seat of trilateral government, a city regarded as an entity in itself, belonging to no faction, but whole in itself, the very heart of Ordallia, solid symbol of their unity.

Somewhat smaller than Lesalia, Bura was as magnificent as the Ivalician capital with its sheer stone walls that seemed to touch the sky. It was impossible to gauge the height of those walls for the stone merged, gray, with the heavens.

Unlike Lesalia where the city walls surrounded the city, a town stood outside the walls of Bura, foregoing tall wooden fences in their confidence of the capital's strength and consequent ability to protect the inhabitants from any danger.

Seeing the capital very close, Ramza and the others hurried for the open city, as rain began to pound out of a leaden sky. They headed for the tavern which doubly served as an inn.

As Kyshon booked their rooms for the night—saying that he could get a good price for them, having connections from all over Bura—the rest went into the tavern, taking a seat in the farthest corner.

The tavern—filling steadily with new patrons—was alive with gossip. Since Bura was the first major city to reach from Ivalice—and it being so close to the western border—travelers from that part of Ordallia brought news and rumors that they heard regarding their neighbor.

Ramza and Delita heard the news with a keen ear, taking each one seriously: the economy decreasing drastically from lack of trade; travelers too afraid to travel the roads; the Church having assassinated the king and placed a weak prince in his stead so that they could rule Ivalice; civil unrest. The one thing no one mentioned—presumably because it had nothing to do with them—was the Heretical Hunt. It made them wonder how Kyshon had obtained such information.

Delita was disconcerted by these rumors especially about the Church 'assassinating' him to gain the power of the throne. If the Church was in control of Ivalice, that didn't bode well for his subjects. A lack of trade and travelers meant a stricter regime was being imposed and that probably most of the resources were going to the Heretical Hunt. Such news chafed him as he shifted in his seat restlessly.

"Patience," Ramza advised him calmly, toying with a near helmet-size flagon of mulled red wine. "Rushing into it would not help our people. More harm may come out of it than good."

Delita sighed, agreeing grudgingly to Ramza's logic. "Again, you speak with the voice of reason. A true warrior never rushes headlong into a battle for doing so, his life would be wasted." He took a sip of his ale then asked, "So, how many days is it from here to Ivalice?"

Before Ramza could reply, the tavern door opened to admit a gust of wind and a band of four strangers, their identities unknown because of the dark cloaks they wore.

"Refreshing weather," one of them announced cheerfully, as they removed their cloak, revealing a young woman dressed in woolen clothes. She shook dense droplets of moisture from her shoulder-length black hair and her mantle as she added, "After so warm a summer."

Her comrades followed her example, shedding their cloaks, exposing their identities one by one: a hunter, a savage, and a mage. The savage then surveyed the tavern, nudging the mage when he caught sight of Ramza and the others sitting at the corner. The mage looked towards where the savage was gesturing and smiled. She called to the others and soon all four marched purposefully to where Ramza's group sat.

"Ramza!" Rae exclaimed, raising a hand in greeting. "What a surprise to see you here! May we join your table?"

Ramza nodded, motioning to some empty chairs and the four sat down onto the wood, greeting the others of Ramza's group with smiles and cheers, friends reunited in the unlikeliest of all places.

"So, what brings you here to Bura, Ramza?" Rae questioned. "Supplies running low at the cottage? You've gone out of your way just for supplies when you could have gotten them at Locar."

A dark cloud seemed to descend upon the group as Ramza's cheerful expression suddenly turned grim. "We're not here on a pleasure trip," he replied softly and was about to explain further when Delita decided to apprise the situation himself.

"We have business to take care of in Ivalice," elaborated the monarch. "And after listening to all these rumors, it seems we're returning at a bad time."

"And you're still going?" Jovet inquired mildly and Ramza and Delita nodded gravely. "What sort of business do you have there? It must be very important for you to have traveled this far."

"It is serious business," Ramza agreed gravely. He took a long draft of his wine before continuing: "Business that concerns my ties with my homeland. I've chosen to ignore it these past twenty years, but now it has caught up with me and I must remedy it." He then repeated the news Kyshon had told them two and a half weeks ago in explanation.

Rae nodded after the telling. "We've heard of this, but Ramza, how would you save your friends? Are you not also a heretic? And with the king dead—"

"He is not dead!" Delita suddenly exclaimed, angered at the fact that such a fabrication was accepted as true.

Rae stared at him in surprise. "But the rumors..."

"Are not true." Delita sighed, lifting his mug to finish his drink. He then bellowed over his shoulder for a refill, waiting until a serving wench arrived with a pewter jug. "You should know better than to believe in rumors," he continued as the wench filled his cup, nodding thanks as she departed. "The king is alive and plans on regaining his throne and fix any damage done by the Church."

Rae was amused. "And how, pray tell, does he plan on regaining the throne?" she asked, her tone mocking. "With an army of skeletal warriors? Or perhaps zombies?" She then began to laugh. "Or maybe scare them to death when he arrives at the palace? Come now, Delita! The king has not been seen for at least twenty years! What makes you think that he's still alive after all the time has passed?"

By that time, Rae's group was chuckling, with the exception of Draven, at their leader's quick tongue. But Ramza and the others weren't laughing, only frowning in disapproval at their friends' amusement.

"Because he is sitting right in front of you," Delita muttered through clenched teeth as he tried to control his anger.

That small statement caught the group's attention, ceasing all laughter. The merriment left their faces as they looked at Delita curiously. "What did you say?" Jovel queried, voicing the question on everyone's mind.

"I said he is sitting right in front of you," repeated Delita, his gaze piercing as he studied each of their faces. Seeing the doubt that were clearly writ on there, he took off one of his leather gloves and tugged free a golden band on his finger, placing it firmly in the middle of the table, motioning afterwards for the four to study it.

Rae obliged, taking the ring in her slender hands, her friends gathering around her as she turned it in her fingers. It looked to be an ordinary ring until they saw the insignia engraved on its surface: a design consisting of a central disk with seven radiating spires projecting in the manner of sunbeams.

The sunburst of Ivalice.

"The royal emblem of Ivalice!" Jovet gasped softly so that the other patrons would not hear. "Then that means—!"

"Delita...is the king?" her brother exclaimed as shocked as his sister.

"Yes," Ramza nodded. "Delita Hyral...is the missing king of Ivalice."

"Interesting..." Rae murmured intriguingly as she calmly returned the ring to Delita. "Who would have thought that the king of Ivalice was here in Ordallia, right in front of our very eyes!"

Delita placed the ring back on his finger as he stared at the four as though judging them. Finally he said, "I should prefer you did not make my name public."

"Very well," smiled Rae, her companions echoing their agreement. She then leaned back against her chair, folding her hands within the sleeves of her robe, her expression thoughtful. "What an interesting turn of events. And don't worry, your identity is safe with us—_both_ your identities." She smiled at Raizen knowingly before turning to Ramza.

"It seems you have quite a task before you, my friend," she remarked, "with only the four of you."

"Five," Raizen corrected then grinned when he saw their fifth member approaching. "And here he comes now."

Kyshon looked to be in good spirits, pulling a chair to the table and, like Delita before him, hollered for a drink.

"So, how did the bargaining go?" Alma asked a bit apprehensively. When the gambler was in such high spirits, it meant only one thing...

Kyshon smirked mischievously, waiting until a serving wench—the same that had served Delita—arrived with a foaming mug, patting her buxom behind as she departed, before answering. "I challenged the landlord to a game of dice, the stakes being that if I win, our rooms would be free."

Alma clenched her fists beneath the table. She should have seen this sooner, preferably before they had left the cottage. If there was a risk in this venture, it was bringing the gambler along. "And if you lose?" she asked harshly. If it weren't for her clerical training, she would have throttled Kyshon a long time ago.

The dark man pantomimed surprise that such a question should be addressed him. "Lose?" Kyshon exclaimed. "I'm hurt that you would ask such a thing, Alma. Need I remind you that I am the best gambler in Ordallia?"

"Best gambler?" Alma growled.

"Second to Ramza, of course," quickly amended the gambler. "Now would you introduce me to our guests?" he asked, trying to change the subject. "I believe we've never met before."

Alma remained grudgingly silent as her brother made the introductions. "You have powerful friends," Kyshon commented after, "friends that would certainly be of help to you on your quest."

Ramza was caught off guard with that statement. "I-I couldn't possibly trouble them with my problems," he stammered, unsure of how his friends would react. "Besides, they probably have a task to do."

"Actually, we're free for the moment," Jovel replied. "I wouldn't mind coming along. I'm sure it would be a grand adventure! What say you, Rae?" He turned towards the blue mage who had her head down in thought.

"There's only one thing I can say," she finally said as she raised her head slightly to look at Ramza.

"When do we depart?"

* * *

Preparations were made that very night, imperative that they set out as early as possible in the morning for their number had increased from five to nine and would make traveling a little more difficult, perhaps delaying their arrival to Zarghidas by a day or two. Securing new mounts—Kyshon and Alma included among them—was not hard, but establishing a reason to tell the guards at the gates of why they were entering Ivalice proved otherwise.

There were many suggestions made ranging from the purely imaginable to the more sensible. After a couple hours of debating, they finally agreed on one: they would pose as mercenaries, who have heard about a hunt for certain individuals and have decided to take part, feeling sympathy for the Ivalicians who had not succeeded for the past two decades. It wasn't so far from the truth.

After all the necessary preparations were made, they retired for the night with the intention of leaving soon after first light. Everyone slept soundly and in the morning, woke refresh, eager to set out on the last leg of their journey.

Ramza yawned and stretched as he went down to the tavern, where the party was already assembling, his appearance bringing a cheerful barrage of greetings. He joined them and they ate a hearty breakfast before adjourning to the stables where their mounts were waiting.

It was a bright morning, the sky a hard blue-gray with no hint of cloud, the early sun reflecting in the puddles dotting the cobbled yard. They drew on their cloaks and checked their animals before mounting.

They rode onto the damp plains beyond, Ramza flanked by Delita and Alma. "Let us ride!" he exclaimed when they had passed out of the city, urging Boco to a faster pace. The chocobo warked in reply as he obeyed, the others trying to match his pace.

Ramza grinned as he felt the wind-rush of their passage strike his face, pushing his fears behind as the excitement of the ride drove them out, filling him with a fine, wild optimism.

The road to Ivalice was marked with villages and crossroad inns that were able to accommodate the travelers, as those along the road from the cottage had been able to do so. There were no more nights spent under the stars or the trees, the weather holding good, the party able to keep pace Ramza set. Five days out from Bura, they arrived in sight of Zarghidas.

From their vantage point on a ridge overlooking the trade city, Zarghidas was spread out before them in its simplistic grandeur. The walls stood twenty feet high, massive logs settled deep in the ground beneath, carved and fire-hardened to points at their tips, walkways spanning the upper levels of the walls, connecting the watchtowers. Then there were buildings—all stone, the only wood used in construction of roofs, doors, and window shutters.

The gates were open, letting in the few merchants that had the will to continue their trade; their wagons slowly rolling through the arch as the knights on duty let them enter into the city and the land beyond.

A land full of uncertainty and fear.

A land under the tyrannical rule of the Church.

The land known as Ivalice.


	15. The Place I'll Return to Someday

**Chapter Fourteen: The Place I'll Return to Someday**

Zarghidas Trade City.

A city of trade, it used to be the central trading point with Sea Gull—a prominent company stationed in Ordallia whose wares were specifically sought out by the people of both countries. They sold fine silks and rare spices, expensive jewelry and excellent wines, finely honed blades and armor of superior craftsmanship that was the envy of smiths everywhere. And the best thing of all, it was affordable to all classes of people whether they be noble or commoner, mercenary or knight, there was something for everybody.

And it could all be found only in Zarghidas.

That is, until the Fifty Year War broke all ties with the city as diplomatic relations ended. Sea Gull withdrew from the market of Ivalice to become enemies with the people they once bargained with, their blades clashing against the blades they sold, their armor glinting as brightly as the armor they sold. Who would have thought that the wares they vended would one day be used against them, their makers?

Life was full of such ironies.

Such a paradox walked along the streets of Zarghidas dressed in a dark hooded cloak, his face covered in shadow so that only two strangely glowing blue eyes showed. Such eyes marked him as a member of SOLDIER in his world, but in Ivalice, he was deemed as a cursed being. None dared approach him including the Shrine Knights who had demanded his arrest several years ago in his connection with the heretic Ramza Beoulve. He had refused and the last thing the Shrine Knights saw before his gigantic sword cleaved them in two was his glowing eyes. They never expected him to wield his sword with such speed and efficiency.

Another paradox.

The Materia Blade was strapped to his back in full view. The weapon was huge, the tip reaching to his heels and the blade wide enough to cover his back. The hilt was made of reinforced steel to handle the weight of the blade, jutting out of his right shoulder where he could easily reach it if needed. To the observer, such a burdensome weapon seemed impossible to wield. Such thoughts, however, proved fatal as he had demonstrated on those Shrine Knights.

His life was a paradox.

In his world, he had lost someone dear to him…

...only to find that someone alive and well in this world.

He remembered his first encounter with the flower girl. It was when he had first come to Zarghidas, searching for the Promised Land. The voice in his head told him that it was near. He had been so intent in his search that he didn't notice the flower girl until she spoke to him, asking if he would like to buy a flower for one gil.

The resemblance was uncanny! He had been so shocked that he had been rendered speechless, only staring wide-eyed at the girl before him. _Aeris!_ his heart had cried out, but when the flower girl asked what was wrong and if she resembled someone, he knew that this wasn't his Aeris. His heart fell, reverting back to his cold self, answering curtly to her questions before walking away.

He did not go far for he heard the sounds of jeering men and the flower girl's pleading voice. He turned to see a group of thugs surrounded the flower girl, laughing as their leader held her by the collar of her dress.

Something snapped in Cloud then. He ran to her rescue, knocking the leader to the ground, ordering the flower girl to run afterwards. She quickly fled the scene, leaving the stranger alone to fight the gang of ruffians. Cloud was eager for a fight, but he was unarmed in a strange world. Ramza, however, had arrived in time to save him. He was not used to being rescued, but it was his arrival that turned the odds in his favor. After the battle, Ramza had offered to return him to his world. Before replying, he had looked around to see if the flower girl was around, wanting to speak with her, but she was gone. He then had accepted Ramza's offer, thinking that there was nothing for him here.

But during his journey with the blonde-haired youth, his thoughts kept going back to Zarghidas and to the flower girl. She consumed his thoughts like the fire that had burned his hometown. He had wondered if fate had brought him here to meet this world's Aeris, to give him a second chance to make things right where everything in the old world had gone wrong.

After the battle with Altima, Ramza had again offered to return him home in gratitude for his help, but this time, Cloud had refused saying that he would rather stay here than return to a world where he had nothing. In Ivalice, he had found what he had been searching for all this time, and it wasn't the Promised Land.

He had been looking for Aeris.

_You are perfect for each other! Aeris's star and Cloud's star! They show a great future!_

A prediction a friend in his world had made echoed in his mind. It had truly come to pass for the future had been bright. The years following the Lion War were ones of profound peace and happiness he never thought was possible in his life. He had always been a fighter, a proud member of SOLDIER, elite warriors in his world. The notion of peace was quite foreign to him, as he was a stranger in a foreign land, but he learned to adapt to both things and life in Ivalice was good—better than what his life used to be.

That is, until the Church came hunting for him along with the others who had followed Ramza during the war.

To keep Aeris safe from the Church, he had to disappear from her life, but he had promised that he would return when everything was back to normal. It had been fifteen years since he had made that promise and yet there was no change in sight. He did not go into hiding like the others, but stayed within the shadows of the trade city, drifting from place to place, visiting the flower girl once in a while to check up on her and to give her a pouch of gil that he had obtained by chance before disappearing again.

Cloud continued to wander the streets, the shadows lengthening as the sun sank to the west. The evening was chill, the wind sweeping from the north, as stars began to dot the twilight sky. Shops closed for the day as taverns began to fill with patrons eager for some drink after the long day, the streets emptying as night fell upon them.

He emerged from an alley, some nearby people scurrying at his sudden appearance, to continue on to the next street but paused when he heard an interesting conversation taking place at the nearby eastern gate.

"Mercenaries, huh? That's a first. I'm assuming that you're here for the Heretical Hunt then."

"Of course. Why wouldn't we be?"

That caught Cloud's attention. He knew of merchants and travelers visiting from Ordallia, but mercenaries? He found that strange and amusing at the same time. It showed how pathetic Ivalicians were to attract Ordallian mercenaries to do their hunt for them. Intrigued, he stepped back into the alley, eavesdropping on the rest of the conversation.

"You know, if we still had our pride, we wouldn't let you in, but any help is greatly appreciated to end this hunt quickly so we can go back to our old lives instead of being stuck on guard duty all year round. It's beneath our dignity!"

Cloud snickered, "It's beneath your dignity to allow Ordallians to do your dirty work."

"Rest assure, you will return to your normal lives soon, within a year perhaps. We don't plan on staying here long."

Cloud didn't like the way the mercenary spoke. His voice was full of confidence with no hint of doubt, as if he _believed_ he and his band would capture them. Such faith could prove dangerous to Cloud and the others for he learned that through faith, all things are possible. Having heard enough, Cloud quickly left the alley, as the guard at the gate said:

"Then enter and welcome, friends."

Little did Cloud know, fate was about to throw him another twist…

* * *

"For a moment there, I thought they wouldn't let us through." Ramza savored the Ivalician cider they had been served, reminiscing in its bittersweet taste. He thought he would never taste such drink again, realizing that he had truly missed home. "I'm glad we've entered with no trouble."

The group of nine sat in the farthest corner of the tavern, alone, as if some invisible perimeter separated them from the tavern's other patrons. Delita knew that they were unwanted, seeing their wary stares as they talked quietly to themselves. He supposed they looked a suspicious lot especially when traveling with a grizzled old man clothed in wolf's fur.

Delita said, "Yes, and I must thank you for bringing us this far. My son and I will depart for Lesalia on the morrow. I wish you luck on your quest and perhaps we shall meet again."

"You're crazy." Kyshon shuffled a deck of cards as was his habit. "Do you think they will accept a king who has been considered dead for twenty years? Despite the fact that you have the royal signet, they may blame you for killing the king, stealing the ring from him before dumping the body. Such stories are possible."

"He has a point, Delita." Alma whispered his name softly, careful of the other patrons' prying eyes and ears. "The Church may be looking for a scapegoat to pacify the people's hostility towards them."

"And I'll be perfect for the role," Delita admitted grudgingly as he rubbed his beard in thought. "Then what do you suggest we do?"

Alma shrugged and said, "I don't know. Why don't you ask my brother? Isn't he the presumed leader of this group?"

Delita acknowledged Ramza's leadership with a nod. "Yes, of course. He has led us this far, right?" He then turned to their leader, who was clearly enjoying his cup of cider, shouting for a refill when he was done. "What do you suggest we do, leader?"

Ramza waited until the serving wench who brought his cider was gone before replying, "I would like us to gather information first of what is truly happening here in Ivalice and plan accordingly. As I have told you, Delita, we must exercise patience if we are to help our people."

True, Delita had agreed to Ramza's advice back in Bura, but now that they were in Ivalice, he could not help but feel as if any further delay would bring more suffering to his people. He opened his mouth to protest, but then felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Listen to Ramza, father," Raizen advised as Delita turned to him. "I believe he knows what's best."

Delita stared at his son for a moment, seeing the resolve reflected in his eyes. He was so much like Ovelia that he wondered if his dead wife spoke to him through their son. "Very well," he whispered in reluctance as he again turned back to Ramza. "So, we are free to explore the city tomorrow, I take it."

"Yes," nodded Ramza. "Hopefully, we can get a pretty good picture of what has been taking place during our absence. Agreed?"

"Agreed!" the others echoed, a bit too loudly it seems as it attracted annoyed stares from some of the patrons, but they did not seem to notice as they called for food and drink to be brought, cheered by the fact that they had finally reached Ivalice, the first step of their quest taken...

…and on the morrow, they shall take another.

* * *

A cool breeze blew over the slums of Zarghidas as the sun began to rise, marking the start of a new day. The breeze blew through the open windows of any houses it passed, awakening those within before moving on, as an ethereal being with a mission. However, it seemed to linger long in one particular house.

It wafted over the neat flowerbed at the side of the home, colorful petals gently swaying in its wake as it made its way to a curtained window, the drapes gently caressing the face of the woman asleep on the bed. She groaned as she turned away from the drapes and the breeze, clutching her blanket tighter about her. The breeze blew again, stronger, determined to awaken the woman before moving on to the next house. After another groan, she turned on her back, her eyes blinking open.

It took her only a moment to get back her orientation. Morning sunlight filtered through the lone curtained window, warming her face, dispelling the cold brought in by the breeze. With a sigh, the woman pushed back the covers and rose from her bed. She threw the curtains open, allowing the sunlight to fully enter her room, as she greeted the new day with a smile.

With that done, she went to her wardrobe and withdrew a long pink dress and a short red jacket. In the past, she had worn a green and white dress—the only clothing she owed. She couldn't afford to buy new dresses for all the money she earned went to paying debts. But all that had changed twenty years ago.

Her knight in shining armor that she had always prayed for had finally come to her rescue. It was then that things started to get better. Her 'knight' had rescued her and her mother from poverty by providing them the gil he earned as a mercenary at the local soldier office. They were now able to buy better food, new clothes, and furnishings for their otherwise dull home. The pink dress and red jacket were one of the things she first bought with the gil. Her rescuer seemed pleased with the choice of clothing when she showed it to him, remembering his comment on how the dress brought out the color of her eyes.

Happily humming to herself, she donned her dress, finishing her outfit with a pair of brown boots—ones she bought to replace her shoes whose soles were worn down. After dressing, she busied herself with the task of brushing her long hair of chestnut brown, tying it back with a pink ribbon.

Finished dressing, she left her room still happily humming to herself.

A slightly plump middle-aged woman moved about the common room, setting up plates on the table as she got breakfast ready. "Good morning, Aeris!" she greeted merrily as she saw her daughter step out of her room.

"Good morning!" Aeris returned with as much good cheer as she took a seat at the table.

"Going out today?" Aeris' mother asked as she brought a plate of toast and a pitcher of hot tea, placing them on the table before joining her daughter for breakfast.

Aeris nodded as she poured herself a cup of tea, taking a slice of bread afterwards and spreading it with jam. "I'm going to sell some flowers," she replied before taking a bite. "Why? Do you have any errands for me, mom?"

Her mother shook her head, her gray-streaked brown curls quivering somewhat at the movement. "No. I just want you to be careful. People become desperate in times of despair. They may try to take advantage of you to get to Cloud."

"Don't worry, mom," Aeris whispered comfortingly as she took her mother's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "I'll be careful. I'm still here, right?"

"Yes," her mother whispered then stronger with conviction, "Yes, you're right." She then patted her daughter's hand. "You were always a headstrong girl. That's what's special about you. Done, dear?" she asked afterwards when Aeris stood up from the table.

"Yes. I'm going to water the flowers before I go," Aeris replied then added with a smile, "I'll be back before sunset. You can be sure of it," before taking her leave of the house.

A figure sat on a nearby rooftop, leaning casually on one leg that was propped up while the other dangled over the edge, watching as Aeris exited her home and happily watered her flowers. Afterwards, she began picking those in full bloom, arranging them neatly in a woven basket. After a final farewell to her mother, Aeris left for the streets.

The figure followed the young woman, ensuring her safety, making sure she would hold to the promise she had made to her mother.

* * *

Ramza and his companions enjoyed a light breakfast before breaking off into pairs to explore the city and gather any information pertaining to their own 'hunt'. "I want everyone to be back here before sunset," Ramza had instructed them as they had left the inn. "And try to keep yourselves out of trouble. We don't want to attract attention to ourselves."

Now he walked along the streets located in the slums of Zarghidas accompanied by his sister. "Stay close to me, Alma," he told her as they turned into a dark alley. "The slums is an unkind place for the likes of us."

"Then what are we doing here then?" his sister questioned as she looked about apprehensively, expecting a thief to jump out from the shadows, demanding their purses at knife point.

"I have a friend here," Ramza replied as they left the alley and turned into another street. "I plan on seeking him out and ask for his aid."

"Do you know where to find this friend of yours?" Alma asked as they passed an alley mouth where she caught sight of an unkempt man sitting on a barrel, toying with a knife as he leered at her, exposing several missing teeth. Alma shuddered as she ran to catch up with her brother who had walked on, into a street corner where a woman dressed in red and pink was selling flowers.

"Would you like a flower? It's only one gil," she called to passersby, holding said item in one hand while the other held her basket. "Buy a flower? Only one gil."

Alma felt sorry for the poor woman as people walked by with not so much as a glance. Her earlier question to her brother was quickly forgotten as she wondered if they could make a brief stop to buy a flower or two from the woman. She was about to make the suggestion to her brother, but was suddenly shocked into silence when she saw him pull out a couple of gil from his pocket.

"I'll buy the lot," Ramza offered to the flower girl, his generosity surprising his sister.

The flower girl's face lit up. "You're too kind, sir!" she exclaimed. "Let's see here…" her voice trailed off as she began counting the flowers in her basket.

Unbeknownst to the trio, a dark figure lurked within a nearby passage, watching them carefully. Upon hearing the buyer's voice, he immediately became alert, recognizing the voice as belonging to the mercenary that had spoken with the guards last night. Cloud studied the mercenary and his female companion closely as they waited patiently for Aeris to finish counting her flowers.

The mercenary's female companion wore a leather vest over a knee-length tunic sashed at the waist followed by loose fitting black pants that disappeared into tall boots. Her golden hair was drawn back from a beautiful face, fastened with a twist of green ribbon—the same color as her eyes—so that it hung in a thick tail at the nape of her slender neck. For some unknown reason, Cloud felt that she looked out of place in such clothing, thinking she would look better in a dress or a robe.

The mercenary, on the other hand, looked the part. He was of average height with light blonde hair that cascaded slightly past his broad shoulders which were defined by the white cape he wore. His stance stretched the fine linen shirt he wore tight across a hard-muscled chest. Trousers of soft brown fit loose on his legs followed by the high boots upon his feet. He then studied his face, seeing wide-set eyes, a firm nose, and a short beard surrounding a mouth parted in a smile that revealed even white teeth in a powerful jaw. He radiated confidence, the hint of benevolence in his eyes oddly familiar.

"That would be twenty-five gil, sir," Cloud heard Aeris inform the mercenary when she was done counting the flowers.

Cloud watched as the mercenary counted the gil in his hand. "Here's fifty gil, miss," he said as he handed her double the price, which surprised the flower girl.

"No, sir!" she gasped. "I could not accept such a generous fee!"

The mercenary smiled reassuringly. "Then take it as payment for the flowers and for some information."

"I-Information?" the flower girl queried a bit cautiously.

"Yes," the mercenary nodded. "You see, I am looking for a friend of mine that lives in these slums. Perhaps you have seen him. He's a bit taller than me with spiky yellow hair, carrying a huge sword whose blade is as wide as his back where he keeps it strapped…"

The description filled the flower girl with renewed terror that she found difficult to conceal. She thought that the Church and the mercenaries had given up on capturing Cloud, who she had no doubt that this person was describing. Who else carried a sword whose blade matched the description the stranger gave?

"Miss? Miss, are you all right?" she heard the stranger ask. "You're gone all pale."

The flower girl forced her mouth to parody a weak smile and mumbled, "You're too kind, sir. I just fear for your safety for the man you have described is a criminal of the Church. It's best that you break your ties of friendship with him unless you also want to be hunted."

The stranger shook his head. "Then I cannot truly call myself a friend if I abandon him. I owe him a debt of gratitude for his help in past affairs that I intend to repay." He then gave the flower girl the fifty gil and said, "Please, take the payment as a sign of thanks. We'll be on our way now."

The flower girl reluctantly took the payment, giving her flowers in exchange. She watched as the stranger and his female companion left and could not help but wonder why the stranger had called Cloud a friend. She doubt that it was a lie for the man sounded genuine and there was an air about him that she found comforting.

_Who was he?_

* * *

That's what Cloud wanted to find out as he followed the couple through the streets of the slums, and soon, the city proper, which were beginning to crowd as the day progressed, making it harder for him to keep a close eye on his quarry. He began to shove individuals out of the way, watching as the couple turned into a side alley, where he soon confronted them.

Using a pile of crates stacked up against a house, he jumped onto the roof, planning on following the strangers from above. He ran ahead of them and when they were about to leave the passageway, he jumped down, blocking their path.

The mercenary, out of habit, quickly drew his sword as he pushed his female companion protectively behind him. "Who are you?" he demanded the dark cloaked figure that stood in their path.

"Funny," the figure began in a somewhat mocking tone, "I was about to ask the same of you. I heard you were looking for me." He then removed the cowl of his cloak, revealing a crown full of spiky yellow hair and blue eyes that glowed strangely.

"Cloud!" the mercenary gasped in recognition.

Cloud nodded. "That is my name. And who are you, you who call me friend for I've never seen you before in my life, yet there is something about you I find familiar."

"That is good to know," the mercenary smiled as he sheathed his sword. "It is not safe to say my name here. Is there a place where we can talk privately?"

"This is as private as any," Cloud replied, turning his head to glower at some folks passing by, who shuffled away quickly. He then turned back to the mercenary adding, "The people are afraid of me and avoid me whenever possible. Whatever you say here will not be heard by the townsfolk. Now quit stalling and tell me who you are!"

The mercenary closed his eyes as he sighed. "Very well," he conceded, his eyes opening to gaze at Cloud. "Before we parted twenty years ago, I gave you four orbs called materia as a gift and a sign of our friendship. Do you still have those orbs, Cloud?"

Cloud remained silent as he stared at the mercenary—_Ordallian_ mercenary—in confusion. How could an _Ordallian_ know of such details? Only those he had journeyed with know that he possessed the magic orbs of Salonia. So, how could an _Ordallian_ know unless…

A smirk graced his lips. "A friend who owes me a debt of gratitude for my help in past affairs," he mumbled, repeating what he had heard in the conversation between Aeris and the mercenary. "I'd never thought to see you again…Ramza."

"And I you," Ramza agreed, returning Cloud's smirk with a grin of his own before motioning to his female companion to come forward. "You know my sister, Alma?"

Cloud nodded as he politely greeted Alma, knowing now why he felt that she looked out of place. After their brief reunion, Cloud again looked at Ramza, his smile gone now as he stared at his friend gravely. "I have a guess as to why you were looking for me," he began. "There is a lot to tell, Ramza—and a lot to do. And we need to discuss this in a more subtle environment."

"Yes," Ramza concurred. "Name the time and place and I shall be there."

"Tonight in the slums, at the street where I joined you in your quest. It's better that you come alone." Cloud smiled apologetically at Alma then turned to Ramza when he said, "I do not plan on taking Alma with me, but another in my group. He would like to know what has been happening during _his_ absence from Ivalice."

Cloud looked questioningly at Ramza. "How many of you are there?" he asked curiously.

"Nine, including myself. Most of them are friends I made while living in Ordallia."

"And this friend of yours you're bringing…?" The spiky-haired foreigner looked at the 'Ordallian' mercenary in askance.

"You'll meet him soon enough," Ramza replied reassuringly.

Seeing that he won't receive a clear answer, Cloud reluctantly nodded. "All right then," he said as he raised the cowl of his cloak over his head, covering his face in shadow. "I think it's time we part before people start getting suspicious and I don't want them to start hunting after you. It will defeat the purpose of you coming here."

Ramza knew that Cloud was right. If he—they—were caught now, then there'll be no hope for his friends, for the people of Ivalice. They would perish and the people subjected under Church rule as was their goal during the Lion War. _I won't let that happen_, he thought determinedly, nodding at Cloud saying, "All right. Then we'll see you tonight."

Cloud returned the nod before walking away, leaving the siblings alone in the alley. They watched as the SOLDIER from another world disappeared into the crowd, his huge blade glinting in the afternoon sun, before setting out for the inn.

* * *

A waning moon hung like a crescent of ice over Zarghidas as two figures gradually made their way into the city's slums, honoring their appointment with Cloud. A lonely wind moaned through empty streets, as if mourning for the two figures who were about to learn some dreadful news from their friend. After a few more turns traversing the streets, both individuals finally reached the assigned location.

Ramza looked around apprehensively. The place was empty. Were they early or did Cloud lie to him?

"So, where's this friend of yours?" his companion questioned him, gazing at the shadows uneasily, his hand automatically touching the hilt of his sword, wary of a possible trap. It felt like they were being watched.

Indeed, they were.

Two eerily glowing eyes watched the two men from the darkness of a nearby passage, observing their apprehension as they searched for him. Cloud did not allow himself to be seen as he studied the companion Ramza brought with him. He trusted Ramza, there was no doubt about that, but he could not find himself to trust the other.

Ramza's companion was of the same height as his friend, but slightly bulkier, dressed more ruggedly in leathers, armed with a sheathed longsword. Long dark hair flowed down to his shoulders, but unlike Ramza, his was tied up to a tail. And unlike Ramza, the stranger sported a thick beard that seemed to cover the bottom half of his face, making it difficult for Cloud to read his expression.

"I don't know," he heard Ramza reply, who felt no less uneasy as his friend. "I think we're early."

Cloud heard the doubt in his voice, watching as the stranger clutched his sword in response. It seemed that the stranger feared that they had been led to a trap. He allayed such fear as he made his presence known, walking out of the shadows.

The stranger immediately drew his sword when he saw Cloud step into the dim-lit street and nearly pierced him through if it weren't for Ramza's shout then: "Halt, Delita!"

Though his hood covered his features, Cloud stared at the stranger in disbelief. Did he hear Ramza right? Was this bushy bearded man the King of Ivalice himself?

Delita halted his charge, staring incredulously at Ramza, prompting him to explain. "He's the friend I've told you about," he informed Delita.

"You're sure?" questioned Delita doubtingly. "You can't even see his face."

As Ramza was about to reply, Cloud answered for him: "Ramza speaks the truth. My name is Cloud and are, too, a heretic though the Church gave up on the hunt for me a long time ago." He patted the hilt of his sword, as if that explained the reason. "Ramza has told me that he wishes to know what has been happening in Ivalice during his absence. He has also told me that he has a friend that would like to know what has been happening during _his_ absence. I see now who and why. I'll explain everything, but not out here."

"Then where?" Delita asked suspiciously, his sword still brandished. For all the things Cloud has said, he still could not bring himself to trust the cloaked man.

If Cloud gave notice to Delita's slight hostility towards him, he did not show it as he replied calmly, "An abandoned hospital near here. Follow me." He turned and walked away, not looking back, assuming that the two men would follow.

Ramza placed a hand on Delita's shoulder, staring briefly at his friend before walking pass to follow Cloud. In that silent gesture, Ramza was saying that everything will turn out right, that they could trust Cloud. Having nothing to lose—except perhaps his life—Delita sighed, sheathing his sword as he trotted after the two men.

They reached an intersection—one leading to a church and the other leading to what seemed to be a dead end. Again, Delita became wary as they turned, not towards the church, but towards the dead end. It was a perfect place for an ambush, the darkness providing the necessary cover needed to hide their assailants, the place isolated that their dying screams would go unheard. He fingered the hilt of his sword, his eyes darting about as they made their way through the street...

…that ended at a decrepit building.

Delita stared pensively at the decaying building, its stone walls riddled with cracks, its glass windows shattered. A wooden plank that hung above the door creaked, swaying in a cold breeze, the sign faded to obscurity.

The door groaned as Cloud pushed it open and entered, followed by his two guests. The place was more akin to an abandoned warehouse than a hospital. The floor was compact stone, its only covering the blankets strewn carelessly about. Along two walls there were windows cut and set high. In the middle of the room was a table surrounded by small crates that served as chairs. Delita wrinkled his nose in disgust at such terrible living conditions.

"I know it's a bit rundown, but it's home," Cloud stated as he lit a small lamp sitting on the table. After, he threw back his hood, letting Delita have a good look at him for the first time. "You'll take brandy?" their host asked them as they sat on the crates, rummaging through a small cabinet that used to hold medical supplies.

Delita shook his head, fingers drumming impatiently on the hilt of his sword. Ramza said, "A cup sounds fine." He smiled his thanks as Cloud passed him the cup.

"Now that we are here, Cloud," Delita's voice was soft, almost threatening. Despite the fact that they had arrived at their location safely, he still could not bring himself to trust the spiky-haired, blue-eyed man. "Do you tell us of the situation?"

"Where do you want me to start?" Cloud asked before taking a measure of his brandy.

"From the beginning," Delita replied gruffly. "What happened in Ivalice after my disappearance?"

"Well..." Cloud began as he went into a full account of the past twenty years starting with the riots that occurred throughout the continent with Delita's disappearance. He studied their faces as he continued on with the trial that started Ivalice's downfall to its current state, seeing lamplight pooling shadow beneath eyes hooded with worry and grief. Unlike the reports they heard in Ordallia, Cloud's account was much more detailed—and much more unsettling.

"So much has happened…" murmured Ramza when Cloud was finished recounting recent events. "Olan and Meliadoul murdered, Agrias imprisoned, and the others…"

"Alive," Delita said, "and that's what matters."

Ramza nodded. "But what of Agrias?"

The question was aimed at Cloud who shrugged and said, "We don't know where she is. After the others found Fort Zeakden empty, they lost track of her. She could be anywhere in Ivalice or…" He shook his head, afraid to voice the other possibility lest it came true.

He knew Agrias to be a seasoned warrior and a spirited woman who would not so easily succumb to pain and defeat. She was as strong as the tree her family was named for, but just as a tree could fall to the blow of an axe, so too could a person's spirit. She had been a prisoner of the Church for a while now. How many more blows would it take to make her fall or had she fallen already?

"She is alive," Ramza declared, as if in answer to Cloud's question. "We will find her and rescue her, but first we must reunite with the others."

"If that is your decision," Cloud said, "then I shall take you to them."

Ramza smiled. "Thank you, Cloud."

But Cloud did not return the smile. "This is not an easy thing for me," he said grimly, taking a sip of his brandy before continuing. "I need to ask you a favor, Ramza, if I am to travel with you."

"Name it," granted Ramza, sensing the gravity of this favor.

"When I joined you on your journey those years ago," Cloud began, "I joined because you offered to return me home. Since I had nothing in this world then, I accepted. Later, I realized that I did have something."

"The flower girl." Ramza had a feeling he knew where this was leading.

"Yes," Cloud nodded, "the flower girl. I think it's time that you learn a bit about my past, Ramza"—he turned to look at Delita—"and you too, your highness." Delita frowned at the title, uncomfortable of being addressed in such manner.

If Cloud saw his discomfiture, he showed no sign of it as he continued: "You see, in my world there was a flower girl named Aeris, who I deeply cared for, but she died before I could say anything to her." Ramza saw the pain in his eyes as he relived his past. "I could only watch helplessly as she was pierced through with a sword..."

Delita sympathized with Cloud, having experienced that same feeling before as he watched his sister get shot by an arrow.

The memory must have been too much for Cloud, taking a long draft of his drink as he tried to recompose himself. After a few moments, he was able to continue: "When I came to this world, I was shocked to meet a flower girl who looked exactly like Aeris. Ironically, this flower girl is also called Aeris. During my journey with you, Ramza, I wondered if I had come to this world by chance or by fate. I found the answer shortly after our victory over Altima. I may have failed the Aeris in my world, but I promised myself that I would not fail the Aeris in this one."

"That's why you stayed," Ramza said finally understanding. He had always been puzzled on why Cloud had refused to return home.

Cloud nodded. "Now comes my request. I want Aeris and her mother to come along with us. Please, hear me out," he said when Ramza was about to reply. "The people know their connection with me and I do not feel it safe if they are to remain here without me looking after them. The townsfolk may take advantage of my absence." Cloud sighed. "I can never forgive myself if anything happens to them."

Before Ramza could give the request any thought, Delita spoke: "Of course, they may come."

"Are you sure about this, Delita?" Ramza looked at him in uncertainty. "It will be a difficult journey and I cannot ensure their safety."

"Don't you think that their life has been a difficult journey, Ramza?" argued the monarch. "They work hard to earn a living while nobles," he didn't say _you _nobles, detaching Ramza from that particular class, "live easily. That itself is difficult. If they endured that much hardship, then they can endure the hardship on the road."

_And I do not wish Cloud to experience that same feeling of helplessness again_, he thought sadly to himself.

Ramza saw the thought clearly in Delita's eyes and could not argue against it. Teta was like a sister to him as Delita was a brother and he too felt as helpless as him when he saw that arrow struck her in the heart. He didn't want that for Cloud or for anyone. No one should suffer on their behalf.

Ramza came to a decision then. "Your request is granted, Cloud. They are welcomed to join us."

Now it was Cloud's turn to smile. "Thank you, Ramza. You don't know how much this means to me."

"I'm glad that's over," Delita put in. "So, how do we go about this? Does this flower girl and her mother need any time to prepare for the journey? And what about you? How can you get out of the city without being caught by the guards at the gate?"

Cloud smirked, his eyes flashing mischievously. "Leave everything to me. There's a cluster of boulders at the base of a lone tree just a few yards from the city's walls. Meet us there three days from now. From there I'll lead you to the others. "

True to his word, Ramza and the others found Cloud and the two women waiting for them at the designated place three days later.

It was a blustery morning, the wind gusting steadily over the plain. To the south, it was clear, the peaks of the oldest mountains on the continent, which included Germinas Peak, could be seen like giant sentinels guarding the way to Limberry. To the north, towards Zeltennia Castle—their next stop—dark clouds gathered promising rain before nightfall. Hopefully they'll reach the city before then, warm and dry, enjoying a hot meal with a roof above their heads.

After a heartfelt greeting and a quick introduction, the group began to head out and as the rising sun promised a new day to the world, so too did their journey promise a new beginning to Ivalice.


	16. Tragic Realization

**Chapter Fifteen: Tragic Realization**

"With the Father's blessing, you shall return to Earth. Guide Agnes Oaks' soul to Heaven with St. Ajora's divine protection... Farlem..."

"Farlem," everyone present echoed.

Father Jaren closed the Scriptures, signifying the end of the funeral. The few who attended whispered their condolences to Ramia and Galvin before leaving the gravesite. Galvin expressed his gratitude, but Ramia was deaf to those words of comfort for they could not ease the pain of her troubled heart.

A month had passed since Lord Oaks' death during which the household mourned. Black cloth covered the banners that hung on the keep; servants wore sashes of black silk around their waist while Ramia and Galvin tied black ribbons around the hilt of their swords, all of which indicated their mourning.

As custom dictated, Lord Oaks lain in state at the chapel, awaiting those who would say their last farewells. Pristine curtains covered the windows and the only light came from tall candelabras standing at the head and foot of a bier. Upon that platform stood a coffin of dark oak, a fitting place to house one who was named after the wood.

In the coffin, Lord Oaks' body was swathed in white, the still face gleaming in the candlelight, its lifelike appearance testament to the embalmer's skill.

Ramia remembered the times she had visited and looked upon Agnes, staring at the familiar features, the blue eyes dulled, no longer animated by the bright spark of life. She had hoped to find a hint of life within those dull orbs, hoped to find a finger twitch, a twist of the lip…

But all those visits only served to remind her of the harsh reality of death, of the mortality of men, of those last words Lord Oaks had spoken to her with his dying breath.

They had echoed in her heart then, they echoed in her heart now as she stared at the grave. Those words haunted her dreams, her thoughts, until it seemed that it would consume her very being.

_Know that I love you and you'll always be close to my heart... My granddaughter..._

Granddaughter.

That one word had rocked her world that night. She knew that she wasn't a Birch by birth, having talked to her foster parents about her heritage all those years ago. Now that she thought about it, her father and mother did not give her true mother's name, only that she was a common knight serving in Zeltennia…

Or was she?

Ramia didn't know anymore. She could not distinguish what was true and untrue. But one thing was certain to her: Lord Oaks was dead and whatever secrets he kept had died along with him—secrets that could, perhaps, be unlocked.

Her hand went to her breast, where the key Lord Oaks had given her hung beneath her tunic. She had the key to those secrets, she _knew_ she had the key to those secrets and yet, she did not have the courage to unlock them. Why was she afraid? Was it fear for the unknown that stopped her from obtaining the answers she sought or was it something more than that, something far worse?

Thoughts like these were what consumed her this past month and she had always found solace when visiting the chapel, when looking upon the face of her mentor. His last words not only troubled her, but soothed her as well. Contradictory, she knew, but for some reason they sounded right, filled with love.

But the voice she next heard was not filled with love, but with urgency: "Ramia!"

She blinked, her mind returning to the present as she turned towards the voice, which belonged to none other than Galvin. Seeing that he had captured her attention, he nodded towards a group of four heading for them and said, "Look."

Ramia obeyed, noting the disdain in Galvin's voice, and saw why. The group that came to them was led by none other than Lord Gyle Ilde himself. At the sight of him, she made a sound like a snarl, deep in her throat, and Galvin cast a cautionary glance in her direction.

Both knights had their suspicions on who had sent the ninjas. They knew that Lord Ilde held no love for them. Ever since the day Ramia had defeated his squires in a fair fight, Gyle had held a grudge against them. His hatred for them was known among the nobles, so when news of Lord Oaks' death reached the palace, it came as no surprise to them. They expected as much, but with no evidence to prove his hand in the death of Lord Oaks, he remained free.

His presence at the funeral angered Ramia for she felt that he was dishonoring the memory of her late lord.

"My condolences, Lady Ramia, Sir Galvin," Lord Ilde said in greeting, bowing his head slightly. "I was saddened to hear about his death." He paused briefly as he looked down at the grave. "Did he…suffer?" He appeared to be grieving, but his tone betrayed him.

It was full of mockery and if it wasn't for Galvin's interruption, Ramia would have sprung at Lord Ilde. "He died a knight's death," Galvin replied as he positioned himself between Ramia and Gyle. "That is all you need to know, Lord Ilde."

Though not the answer he wanted to hear, he nodded. "Yes, of course. Such a death befits a knight of the crown." _But he was more deserving of a traitor's death_, he thought darkly as he gazed at Ramia, who stared back, her eyes burning as she glowered at him. "He was a great man," he said, as he shifted his gaze back to Galvin. "He shall be sorely missed."

"Yes, indeed," Galvin agreed sadly.

Lord Ilde nodded and excused himself and his three knights, murmuring their sympathies once more before walking away, Ramia casting a final, scornful glance at Gyle.

"An arrogant man," a voice observed and Ramia turned to see Father Jaren and Divine Knight Tomas approaching. "Worse, he's implacable," Jaren continued. "Such a man does not deserve to live, don't you agree, Lady Ramia?"

"Milord?" Ramia inquired, wondering if he knew that Gyle had sent those ninjas.

"I could have him arrested and tried for his crime, Lady Ramia," the priest explained knowingly. "All you need do is say the word and it shall be done."

It was a tempting offer and when she looked to Galvin, she saw that he was considering it, glancing at Gyle's departing back with a wicked smile. She, too, considered it, but something in her heart told her that it was wrong.

"I thank you for the gesture, Father," she said, "but I must decline."

"What?" Galvin exclaimed incredulously, swiftly turning on her. "You would let Lord Oaks' murderer go unpunished?"

"Lord Oaks' murderer has already paid for his crime," Ramia countered calmly, "with his life. If there is someone to blame for this tragedy, then it should be us. We failed to protect our lord, Galvin, as was our duty."

Whatever argument Galvin was about to say, died on his lips. He couldn't argue against that simple fact and it was this fact that angered him. He and Demitri had gone to Lesalia to retrieve a chemist and when they had arrived back at the keep, they were too late. The truth was that he had failed and he could no longer deny it.

"Are you sure about this, Lady Ramia?" Jaren asked a bit skeptically.

Ramia nodded firmly. "Yes, Milord. It is against the knight's code to seek revenge against another. Besides, the fault lies with us. Let his freedom be our punishment for our failure."

Jaren sighed. "Always the righteous one. You almost sound like your—" He caught himself almost saying _mother_, instead muttering, "Nevermind," with a shake of his head. Ramia wondered what he was about to say, but kept silent, listening as Jaren said, "If that is your decision, then so be it."

"Thank you, Milord," Ramia said gratefully.

"I admire you, Lady Ramia, and I admired Lord Oaks," said the priest. "It is the least I could do in his memory." He then motioned for Tomas to follow him as he took his leave. The Divine Knight took a step then stopped. Without looking at Ramia or Galvin, he said, "Lord Oaks was a good man and a loyal knight. It's a shame that he has left us so suddenly. I'm sure that he had a lot more to teach the both of you, especially you, Lady Ramia. A lot more…"

Ramia gazed at the Divine Knight thoughtfully, marveling at his reticent tone, as he paused briefly, seeming to gather his thoughts. "I hope you find what you are searching for," he turned to gaze at her, "Lady Ramia." He then politely bowed before leaving the two, quickly following Jaren through the departing crowd.

She was surprised by the Divine Knight's comment. _How did he know?_, she thought as she stared at his back in bewilderment. Was she that easy to read, her thoughts clearly expressed on her face? She shook her head, hoping to clear them of such disturbing matters, but it served only to sustain them.

There were so many things to think about, so many questions that need answering. She suddenly felt smothered by such thoughts so that when the last of the mourners left except for her adopted family that had come to pay their last respects to their old friend, she left them saying that she needed some air.

"Leave her be, my son," Tiana said when Galvin moved to stop her. "She needs to be alone, to grieve and to cope with the lost of her mentor—"

"And don't you think that I need time to grieve too, mother?" Galvin retorted, cutting her off suddenly. He turned to face her and his whole family, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I lost a mentor as well. Don't you think I feel the same way too? What makes her grieving different from mine?"

He saw his grandparents exchange a knowing glance before they turned to his father who, in turn, looked at him, his expression grave, but when he spoke, it was with a heavy heart: "Lord Oaks was more than a mentor to Ramia."

The next words his father spoke would forever ring in his mind.

"He was her grandfather, her _true_ grandfather."

* * *

The burial ground—located towards the back of the keep, beyond the gardens, separated by a barred gate—was a serene place, and if it weren't for the many gravestones that dotted the rolling grass, it would be a perfect place to think. Ramia walked past the graves as she made her way to the gate that marked the entry of the Oaks' family burial site, passing through with not so much as a thought, her mind preoccupied with other matters.

The day was bright, the sky cerulean with drifts of high cloud floating on the sweet-scented wind. Contrary to the day's cheerful setting, Ramia's heart was as violent as a raging thunderstorm. Each beat was like a thunderclap, her thoughts rampant as the winds. She felt like a sailor lost at sea amidst the tumultuous waves that threatened to capsize her boat and drown her. Her one support was gone now, buried beneath a sea of dirt and grass, so that she had to rely on something else to keep her afloat.

And that one comfort was her sword.

She unsheathed that weapon as she continued to walk through the gardens, feeling comfort in its weight, the black ribbon hanging limply at the hilt. Then suddenly, as she took a step, she thrust her sword forward. With her next step, she followed through with a low swing, her sword arcing as she pivoted on that same foot to do a downward slash as she completed the turn.

She executed a series of slashes and thrusts, swings and stabs following that simple maneuver. It was a deadly dance of the blade, taught to her by Agnes. She thought of him now as she jumped, cutting the air before her with a two-handed downward slash as she fell.

Her sword sang as she twirled it in her hands, dazzling those who could have been watching as the sun glinted off its polished surface. She performed those exercises and techniques that she had learned from Lord Oaks, guided by his hands.

All those times she had practiced in the garden, Lord Oaks had always come to watch silently, never disturbing her concentration. Only when she was finished would he make his presence known to her.

A wind blew then, strong enough to make her stop in mid-swing. She stood silently, listening as the gust rustled through the surrounding trees, shaking loose leaves that fell down around her. She thought she heard a voice in the wind as it whipped through her long hair:

_Do not be afraid. I am with you always._

Suddenly, all her doubts were blown away just as the wind left the garden, taking them away to faraway heights where they would bother her no more. She felt calm then as she took out the key from beneath her tunic, watching it sway at the end of the thin chain that it was suspended from.

_The truth will reveal itself at its own time._

Ramia knew that it was time. She was not afraid any more.

Clutching the key in her left hand, she sheathed her sword and marched firmly towards the keep. Passing through some hedges and bushes, she finally came to the flagged pathway that led back into the keep where she saw her mother sitting on one of the stone benches that lined the pathway.

Celinda turned when she heard Ramia approaching up the path. Her hair blew loose in the wind, her gray eyes shone bright as she studied her daughter. "You seem determined," she observed with a smile.

Ramia paused at the pathway, gazing at her mother, her hazel eyes no less as bright. "I am," she replied strongly, unconsciously bringing the key closer to her heart.

Celinda noticed this and stood, her soft blue robe rustling as she approached Ramia. The smile was gone now, her expression grave. "So, you have finally decided."

"Yes," Ramia nodded, clutching the key tighter and bringing it to her heart. "I am ready to unlock those secrets now, mother. I am not afraid. Lord Oaks is with me," she pounded her chest once, "here."

"We are with you as well, Ramia," Celinda said. "Whatever secrets you learn, whatever path you take, know that your family supports you. We will never abandon you. Never forget that." She then hugged her daughter, who whispered, "Thank you, mother," as she returned the embrace.

"Now go," Celinda urged when they finally broke apart. Ramia smiled then and nodded and resumed her walk to the keep.

"You let her go."

Celinda turned to see her husband emerge from the trees. His hair that was usually up fell loose about his shoulders as his dark eyes reflected his concern. He wore a gray long-sleeved tunic with matching pants followed by black high boots. A slender saber was belted at his waist and a black ribbon tied about his right arm—the Limberrian sign of mourning.

"I had to," Celinda replied as he came and took her hand. "She needs to know, Andrew. We knew that she would learn her true heritage one day."

"But I never thought that it would be this soon," he murmured, brushing his hair back with his other hand. "Is she ready?"

"She is ready," answered his wife, as they both turned to watch their daughter disappear into the keep. "She follows her heart."

* * *

Ramia stared at the thick wooden door, a torch in one hand, the key in the other. During the five years that she had resided at Oaks Keep, the only place that she hadn't fully explored was the west wing. She had, on occasion, walked through the halls that were almost always poorly lit, giving it a forbidding atmosphere.

Very few visited the wing, none roomed there. It was as if the servants avoided venturing there for it lacked their care. The windows were dusty, the air musty. It seemed she had stepped into an abandoned building. There was something here the servants wished to avoid and she stood in front of it: the only door in the whole keep that was kept locked, only admissible to the one who possessed the key.

Lord Oaks had the key and now that key belonged to her.

The family vault, the servants called it, where old artifacts and treasures of the Oaks family collected over the years were kept. But what did they hold for her? What sort of secrets lied there in wait? There was only one way to find out.

Ramia took a breath as she pushed the key into the lock and turned it. The door creaked open, revealing a stairwell spiraling down into the depths of darkness. She felt a chill run down her spine as she took that first step down followed by another and another, the sound of her heavy footfalls echoing eerily in the silence.

The stairs wore on for sometime, encountering the occasional spider web that crossed her path, a sign that this passage hasn't been used for quite a long time. She eventually reached the bottom and lifted her torch to get a better look at her surroundings. She stood upon a floor of gray stone, great blocks of the same color rising above her to form a square ceiling for the large room filled with ancient relics that dated back to before the Fifty Year War.

Her one torch only illuminated her immediate surroundings. She turned to the side to see an unlit torch in its sconce. With her torch, she lit it, brightening the room by a fraction, revealing more than just artifacts of the past, but paintings as well. She felt like a treasure hunter who had stumbled upon a rare find. Eager to study the numerous relics and artifacts, she lit another torch she found before placing her own torch in an empty sconce. The three torches were bright enough to light up the whole room except for one small corner.

Ramia didn't seem to notice as she began to pick up items, studying them closely, searching for their significance. The many ancient weapons and armor did not provide her with anything but admiration for the smiths that had crafted such beautiful, yet primitive, objects. After a few more minutes of scrutinizing the armory, she turned to the paintings.

Most were faded and covered in soot, but once she wiped off the grit, she marveled at the artist's talent. The first painting she came upon brought a mixture of awe and confusion.

_There's something missing here. I don't know how but I just know._

She knew it to be the painting that was missing from that wall she had first seen when being shown to her room on the day she arrived at the keep. But how did she know without ever visiting the keep before then? She studied the painting closely, hoping to find any clue to her answer.

The painting was of a woman in her mid-thirties with brown wavy hair and forest green eyes. She stood tall in her flowing gown of light pink, her smile carefree, the painter capturing her beauty perfectly. At the bottom of the portrait was a name: Dei Oaks.

The name didn't sound familiar to Ramia, but the painting did get her thinking on who she was. She then turned to another painting and immediately named the place where it's supposed to be in the keep, which surprised her yet again. She studied it briefly before turning to another painting, instantly naming the location where it belonged:

_Above the fireplace in Mark's room._

And another.

_Dining hall, above the minstrels' gallery._

And another.

_Foyer, in between the two staircases leading up._

These paintings were people she never met in life, yet somehow she felt as if she knew them. She named every single one she found, no longer admiring their beauty, the cold fingers of foreboding slowly gripping her heart.

_This is strange_, she thought uneasily. _Why is it that I know where these paintings belong? _

She stepped away from the works of art, the many eyes that were frozen in time staring at her as if they recognized her. She took another involuntary step back, nearly tripping over something, catching her balance at the last moment, quickly turning around to find another painting much to her surprise.

Unlike the other paintings, this one was carelessly thrown against a pile of various antiques. The quality of the work was poorly done, as if it was only half finished. Colors were smeared together like the image of a dream, none of the person's features clearly defined…

Except for the eyes.

Ramia looked at those eyes, feeling a sense of pride and love as she stared at them. Much like she felt when she was with Lord Oaks. Then it struck her. Those eyes were a stark blue, the same color as her lord's, yet were different. As she was about to bring her head closer to the portrait to study it better, there came the sound of something being knocked over.

She quickly snapped her head in that direction, thinking that someone else was down here with her, but saw that the sound had come from the dark corner and not from the direction of the stairs. She ignored the sound with a snort, and went back to the painting in question.

Again, as she was about to look more closely at the painting, there came a sound from the dark corner. This time it was a scratching sound. Ramia ignored it at first, but then it became persistent, the irritating sound seeming to make her ears bleed. Growling in frustration, she placed the painting down, taking a torch afterwards so she could see what was making that sound.

The light of the flame dispelled the shadows of the corner, revealing the culprit. A gray rat clawed on the surface of a dark chest caked in dust so thick that Ramia could see the scratch marks left by the culprit.

The rodent continued to scrape against the latch of the chest, seemingly unawares of the human approaching. After a few moments of scratching did it notice her approach. It did not skitter away as most rats would instinctively do. Instead, it turned and looked at her.

Ramia looked at it curiously, its whiskers twitching ever so slightly. She stomped her foot once, hoping to scare it away, but it didn't even flinch, only standing there looking at her calmly. Its gaze unnerved Ramia, as if it knew something she did not.

A few minutes seemed to pass by before the rat, with another twitch of its whiskers, jumped onto the chest, clawed at it, then skittered away.

Normally, Ramia would have dismissed the rat with a shake of her head before returning to previous matters, but she suddenly felt drawn to the chest. Something about the rat's stare and the way it scratched the chest before running away urged her to open it.

Feeling the need to know what this rusted, old chest contained, she placed her torch on the empty sconce above it before kneeling down before the box. For some reason, her hand shook as she reached for the latch, slowly unlocking it and lifting the lid afterwards.

Ramia let out a breath that she had held while opening the chest, as she gazed in wonder at the contents. Much like the ancient weaponry that she had looked over a while ago, the equipment she found were very much suited for a knight of high ranking.

The gleaming helmet of crystal sparkled softly in the torch's light, radiating the different colors of the rainbow. The shield was made of finely honed black steel shaped into the form of a kite, strong enough to withstand harsh blows but light enough to maneuver it easily. The armor looked to be an ordinary piece of equipment until Ramia passed her hand over it. She felt an aura of magic within the armor, surprised that the spell the armor was imbued with hasn't faded with time. The sword, too, was imbued with magic, feeling it pulsate through her as she unsheathed it. The hilt was wrapped round with wire, the quillons straight and wide. The blade was close on a handspan across where it fused with the guards, seeming to glow with a dull light. It was a sword of epic proportions, one that looked to belong to a great king.

As she removed the equipment one at a time, reverently placing them on the floor besides her, she came upon a rolled parchment. Unfortunately, when she went to pick it up, it easily crumbled into dust and she was left with nothing to identify who the equipment belonged to.

The equipment was of excellent quality and it seemed to have been recently crafted. But who, besides Lord Oaks, could have possibly worn the items? His wife perhaps? Or maybe…

_You have truly inherited the spirit of your mother… She said exactly the same thing when her mother was dying..._

_My grandmother?_

_My wife..._

…her mother Lord Oaks spoke about, his presumed daughter. Was it possible that this equipment belonged to her? Eager now to find the truth, she rummaged through the chest, hoping it would yield a clue or an answer to her many questions. The pair of boots, gloves, and trousers she found did not reveal much, but unbeknownst to her, the blue tunic found after provided the key that would open the gate to memories long forgotten.

She gazed at the piece of clothing that was riddled with long open slashes and stained with blood as voices from a past long faded away came rushing back to her:

_Grandpa! What's happening? Why are they hurting Mama? Why?_

The voice of a little girl.

_Be quiet! And stay quiet!_

The easily recognizable voice of Lord Oaks.

_Do you know who your father is? Can you tell me who he is? What's his name?_

That sly voice could only belong to Father Jaren.

_Ramia, no!_

And that voice…

"No…!" Ramia gasped, staring wide-eyed at the tunic as images from that ill-fated day suddenly filled her mind. She trembled and wept at the tragic realization of it all.

"Mama…Grandpa…" she sobbed, not the nineteen-year-old knight, but the four-year-old girl, bereft, alone. She clutched the tunic to her as if it would give her comfort, her tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

The gray rat stood at the foot of the unfinished painting that had suddenly become all too clear to Ramia, watching as the lady knight cried. It then turned to the painting and the name that was inscribed on it:

Agrias Oaks.


	17. A Mother's Legacy

**Chapter Sixteen: A Mother's Legacy**

Zeltennia Castle.

Stronghold for one of the largest knight orders in Ivalice—the Nanten—the castle was also home to the late Prince Goltana, who was also known as the 'Duke of the Black Lions'. It was here that Prince Goltana had commanded the Nanten during the Lion War and it was here that he had forced Ovelia to become Queen.

The memories burned within Delita like fresh wounds received from a battle, as he followed Ramza and the others through the city, searching for a place to stay. This city was where he had served as a Black Sheep Knight under Baron Grims and it was here that he had become King of Ivalice.

But not all without consequences.

"Ovelia…" He unknowingly whispered her name, reflecting on a terrible past that should not have been if it wasn't for his ambition. He let his ambition take control of him and it was this ambition that had killed his wife.

Raizen, who walked alongside his father, was the only one in the group who heard his whisper. He quickly glanced at him and saw haunted eyes that contained a deep sadness within them. _Father…_, he thought, wondering what painful memories Delita was recalling as he placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Father, are you all right?"

Delita blinked in puzzlement, slightly disoriented as his mind slowly returned to the present, turning to see his son staring at him worriedly, his hand on his shoulder in a gesture of comfort and support. "Father, are you all right?" Raizen repeated softly.

"Yes," replied Delita a bit abstractedly, "I'm all right. Just remembering…old memories." He smiled faintly, patting his son's hand reassuringly before turning forward. It was then that he noticed where they were in the city.

They were close to the wall that separated the city in two: Upper Zeltennia and Lower Zeltennia. The wall served as a division between aristocrats and commoners. It was near this wall and the entryway to the upper division of the city that they found lodging.

According to the wooden sign hanging above the door, the tavern was called Roaring Fang, named so after the crest of the Nanten, the black lion. The party quickly entered the simple wooden two-story building as the first drops of rain began to fall. Ramza was about to follow, but was stopped by Delita, who said:

"If you don't mind, Ramza, I would like to show my son around the city. This is one of the largest cities in Ivalice, after all, that harbors a long history. It's best for Raizen to know of this city's role in this country's history."

Ramza knew the hidden intent behind Delita's request. He knew that Zeltennia held many memories—both happy and sad—for his friend. It seemed the sad ones outweighed the happy, the regret evident in his dark eyes. Perhaps it was time to put those sad memories to rest and make new ones—happy ones that would atone for his past.

He then nodded. "Of course, Delita. We'll wait for the both of you here. You know the city well enough to find your way back. Try not to stay too long in the rain."

"Yes, of course," Delita said. "Thank you, Ramza." He then walked away, beckoning his son to follow him.

After a brief farewell to Ramza, Raizen followed his father as he passed through the arch that marked the entry to the upper division of the city. As he walked slightly behind him, he wondered what things his father would show and tell that made this place hold so much meaning for him.

* * *

Night had fallen when both father and son reached Zeltennia's church ruins. Fortunately, the rain had stopped, the sky clearing, allowing the waning moon to shed what little light it could give, enough for them to see their surroundings.

The hallowed stone walls still towered toward the heavens as Delita made his way into the ruins. Everything was still the same, from the eastern wall to the archway he just passed through.

Just like that day.

Raizen stood behind Delita, marveling at the architecture of whatever building it used to be. Unlike the buildings at the city proper, the stones spoke of greatness despite its disrepair. "What is this place, father?" he asked, his voice hushed in awe. For some reason, he felt humbled and strangely comforted. "Why are we here?"

Delita glanced over his shoulder to study his son briefly before turning forward, his head lowered slightly. "These ruins are the remains of an ancient church," he replied in a solemn tone as he walked forward. "Come, my son. I want to show you something."

Raizen followed as they went deeper into the ruins. Learning the ruins to be a church, he could almost imagine the steeples and the stained glass windows that had decorated the walls, could imagine moonlight filtering through those colored panes as they lit the pews and the altar…

He realized that his father had stopped at the place where the altar should have been and knelt and he wondered if he was going to pray. But as he approached quietly, mindful as to not disturb his prayer, he heard him whispering softly as if he talked to someone.

"Ovelia… It's been twenty years, hasn't it? Twenty years since I…"

The King shuddered a sigh. "I was a fool to have betrayed your trust, the trust I swore in my dead sister's name. Both of you must be very disappointed in me. I'm sorry…for all the things I had done in the past."

He laughed coldly into the air. "It's funny. I'm apologizing to you now when I should have apologized to you a long time ago. It may not hold any meaning now, but I do hope that you have forgiven me, Ovelia, wherever you are." He sighed again, quivering.

"Listen, Ovelia… I have not only come here to seek your forgiveness, but to also seek your counsel. I ask that you watch over us, watch over your—_our_—son, as we travel the unknown road ahead." He then smiled softly. "Our son… Raizen is a grown man now. He has inherited your looks, but most importantly, I see your strength and will in him. He will become a great king, as you foretold when he was born. I hadn't believed it then, but I believe it now, and that is why we walk this unknown path together. It is the only way I can think of to atone for all my past mistakes."

Raizen looked over his father's shoulder as he spoke and saw a grave. He then looked to the simple tombstone and read the name engraved there: _Ovelia Atkascha_

"Mother..." he whispered as he too fell to his knees besides his father.

"I chose to bury your mother here," Delita spoke as he continued to stare at the grave. "This place was where she would come to find comfort, to have time to herself. It was here that I comforted her when she found that she was living a lie and it was here that I…" He clenched his fists as tears threatened to burst forth. When he had control of his emotions, he continued:

"I thought it appropriate that she should rest here, amidst the walls that provided her solace from everyday life as a Princess, and later, as a Queen."

"So, this is what you wanted to show me," Raizen whispered. "Mother's grave…" He placed a hand on the tomb reverently. "I am here now, mother, and I shall carry on your will to the best of my abilities. This, I swear on your grave." He bowed his head in respect.

After a few moments of somber silence, Delita placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "Come," he said as Raizen looked up at him, "it's time we returned to the others. The next we return here, it shall be on a happier note."

"Yes," Raizen agreed as he stood up after his father.

"I know your mother is proud of you, my son," Delita smiled faintly. "And that you shall make good your vow." With one last look at the grave, he turned away only to find a figure standing just ten yards away.

"Reuel!" he gasped, recognizing the figure immediately by the long jagged scar that ran diagonally across his face. Delita remembered how he had come by the scar, having witnessed its carving as they had fought side by side during the Lion War.

The man blinked at Delita and stared. "How is it that you know my name, sir? I believe we haven't met before."

Delita stroked his beard. "Perhaps if I shaved this beard you would recognize me, old friend. But, alas, I must keep the beard for my identity to remain a secret. On the other hand, I know that I can trust you, having fought alongside you during the war." He stopped stroking his beard and looked at Reuel directly.

Reuel stared into the stranger's dark eyes and saw years of pain and grief, yet there flashed hope. He had seen those eyes before, a fellow knight he had fought with who was his dear friend. Could it be that this stranger is the one and the same? He then imagined the stranger without the beard and he gasped, his mouth opened in modest shock. "Delita?"

Delita smiled. "I see that you have figured it out all by yourself, Reuel. I expected as much from the one they called 'Slash'." The nickname referred to the scar that was slashed across his face. "So, what brings you here to this sad place?"

"I came here to visit the grave of my dead Queen, your majesty," Delita noted the bitterness in Reuel's tone of voice, "as I have done so many nights before ever since the funeral." He snickered, adding derisively, "Unlike my King, who had abandoned his country, but most importantly, his wife!" Quickly, he walked towards Delita, who in response put himself on the defensive.

He had anticipated this sort of reaction from the people and knights unknown to him, but not from his friends. It seemed that he had been gone far too long.

"I've waited to do this for twenty years," Reuel stated grimly and Delita heard the distinct hiss of a sword being drawn from its sheath. He narrowed his eyes, carefully watching the glint of Reuel's sword as he placed a hand near his own, ready to draw it in an instant.

Reuel pointed his sword straight at him, shouting defiantly, "You are not fit to be King, traitor! And for that," he pulled back his sword, "I will carry out your sentence: death!" With a roar, he charged at the monarch, putting all his strength behind one blow, hoping to end this quickly.

Delita stood calmly, unafraid, watching as Reuel begun his attack, yelling, "Die, Delita!"

"No!"

A flash and a clang later, Reuel's sword flew through the air and landed somewhere within the skeletal remains of the church. That fact didn't matter to him as he stared at the person that had unarmed him in alarm.

Delita saw that he was pale, almost transparent, as if he had seen a ghost. Perhaps he has for what ghost was better than his own son, who resembled much like his mother.

"Y-Your highness!" Reuel stammered, shuffling back in fright. He gaped at the apparition of his Queen before him, who was in truth Raizen, his eyes round with fear. "Please f-forgive me, your h-highness! I-I never meant to anger you! I swear!"

Raizen looked pitifully at the man cowering before him. "Stand up," he commanded.

"What?" Reuel looked up, unsure if he heard correct.

"I said stand up!" the Prince repeated harshly. "Take a good look at me!"

Shaken, Reuel slowly stood up, flinching slightly as Raizen stepped forward where moonlight illuminated on his stern features. He stared at the apparition, learning that it was not an apparition, seeing the firm jaw, the mouth thin as dark eyes flashed grimly at him. But…the resemblance was uncanny!

"I am not Ovelia, as you can see," Raizen said, staring hard at Reuel.

"Yes," the man agreed, "but you bear a remarkable resemblance to her."

"That is not without reason." Reuel turned to see Delita approaching slowly, his hands held out to either side in a gesture that he came in friendship, that he did not wish to retaliate against Reuel's earlier action. "Raizen is Ovelia's son," he said as he placed a hand on his son's shoulder, "and mine as well."

"What?" Reuel breathed. Men don't normally faint, but he suddenly felt a little lightheaded and would have fallen if Raizen didn't reach out and steady him. "H-How is this possible?" he gasped softly, staring at Raizen in a different light. "Why were we not informed of the Prince's birth?"

"Because I didn't want anyone to know," Delita simply answered. "Those who knew about Raizen's birth had been sworn to secrecy on pain of death." He smiled cynically at Reuel's appalled expression. "I was a different man then, Reuel. You would understand if you knew the truth behind my attainment of the throne. But that's all in the past." He turned away, looking at the grave that was bathed in soft moonlight. "All that matters now is the present and the future to come."

"And what is the future, your majesty?" Reuel's voice had become bitter once more. "The Church now rules Ivalice. No one dares oppose them lest they be burned at the stake for heresy." He sighed and shook his head sadly. "Some have tried. All have failed."

Delita turned to Reuel, his gaze piercing so that the scarred man could do nothing but look away, afraid that he would see the despair in his heart. "That's why I've returned," the King said firmly. "To regain back my throne and restore Ivalice."

Reuel then laughed, angrily reminding Delita of the time Rae had laughed at him for declaring the same plans. "What can you do?" the scarred man scoffed. "The Church reigns supreme! There's nothing anyone—noble, knight, and commoner—can do. Not even you, your majesty."

Delita smirked. "You give up too easily, Reuel. Politics is liken to a battlefield. Every enemy has a weakness. One must merely find it and exploit it."

"And I assume you know this weakness?" Reuel crossed his arms over his chest as he looked at Delita, awaiting an answer.

"Perhaps," Delita replied cryptically. "It depends on where your loyalty lies. Are you loyal to the Church or to Ivalice? Note that I didn't ask if you're loyal to me," he quickly added, "for I have yet to regain your trust after my years of absence."

"Even though," Reuel began, "my answer is still the same."

"And that is…?"

"I am loyal to the Kingdom of Ivalice and to its people," the scarred man replied strongly. "As a Nanten Knight, I vowed to protect the people from all forms of evil and I believe oppression to be one of them. It saddens and angers me to see that we, as knights of the kingdom, are powerless to help them."

"Well said," Delita nodded in approval. "If you wish to help them, Reuel, then listen well to my plans…"

* * *

_Ramia happily scurried about the shrubs and bushes, chasing butterflies flitting about, their colorful wings delighting the little girl. As she was about to jump to catch one particular butterfly that caught her eye with its white wings that seem to glow silver in the sun, someone called, "Ramia."_

_The little girl quickly forgot about the butterfly, bounding eagerly to the caller. It was a woman with golden hair, much like hers, and blue eyes, standing beneath the branches of a tall tree. The woman smiled warmly as the little girl skipped towards her, matching her smile._

_"Mama!" Ramia greeted cheerfully. The woman knelt and opened her arms, the girl running to her embrace._

_"Ramia, there is something I want to tell you," the woman said when they broke apart._

_"What is it, Mama?" the girl asked curiously._

_"See this tree?" The woman stood up and patted the trunk of the old oak tree that stood next to them. "See how tall and strong it is that no matter how hard the wind blows, it continues to stand?"_

_"Yes, Mama," little Ramia nodded._

_"One day, you'll be like this tree, tall with pride and honor and strong against injustice and cruelty."_

_"Just like you, Mama?" Ramia asked as she gazed up in awe at the tree's great branches that seemed to blot out the sun._

_There was a pause._

_"Mama?" Ramia shifted her gaze from the branches to her mother, who looked down at her, remorse shone in her eyes._

_"Become a strong tree, Ramia…" she whispered as a strong wind blew through the garden, her image fading away as if the wind carried her to an unknown place._

_"Mama!" Ramia cried as she reached out for her, trying to catch her, but the wind carried her far beyond her reach._

_"No, Ramia," a gentle voice urged as she felt a hand grab her shoulder._

_Ramia turned to see Agnes, as she remembered him when she was but a girl._

_The garden disappeared then only to be replaced by an open square surrounded by stone walls. Shadowy images and faint voices surrounded them just like that day…_

_"Where did she go?" she asked innocently as she looked up tearfully at her grandfather. "Where?"_

_Agnes smiled softly as he knelt down in front of her. "Do you want to find her?" he asked and when Ramia nodded, he said, "Then go find her and bring her home, Ramia. You're the only one who can."_

_"I am?" Ramia stared at her grandfather speculatively._

_Agnes nodded. "Yes. You are the last of the Oaks line, Ramia. Do not be ashamed of your name. Do not give in to the wind or to the axe. An Oaks stands tall and strong against all just as our namesake is resilient against the elements."_

_"I understand, grandfather," Ramia replied, no longer the innocent four-year-old girl, but the strong nineteen-year-old knight._

_Agnes smiled and nodded, his eyes alight with pride, and Ramia could not help but return it. "Your path is your own now, Ramia," he told her. "Have the courage to carve it. It is the Oaks way…"_

Ramia started into full wakefulness, blinking in confusion as the images from her disturbing dream quickly faded away like scattered leaves in the wind. She managed to snatch a few of those fading images before they drifted away altogether, desperate to keep those images and words in her mind and heart for to forget them is to forget who she really was.

"Oaks."

She spoke the name—her true name—proudly, finally understanding the meaning behind it. The name bore a great legacy—a legacy full of honor, pride, loyalty, and justice. But such a legacy does not matter now that the name bore a great shame—a shame that she had witnessed when she was very young.

She now understood why her grandfather had endured the taunts at the palace, had kept the secret from her. He had been protecting her from the terrible truth since the beginning; even her adopted family had lied to her about her heritage, so that she would not be burdened by the disgrace of her family.

_Your path is your own now, Ramia. Have the courage to carve it. It is the Oaks way…_

Her path was clear now. She would restore honor to her name, to her family, and to do that is to clear her mother's name. She would find her and bring her home just like her grandfather requested…

"Thank God, you're awake!" a voice full of relief broke into her thoughts.

She looked up to see Galvin standing at the foot of her bed, his eyes clouded with worry, realizing for the first time that she was in her room. A fire burned bright in the fireplace and the drapes to the window were wide open, offering a breathtaking view of the capital at night, wondering how she came to be here. The last thing she remembered was being in the family vault…

Galvin saw her confusion. "Father and grandfather brought you here," he explained as he sat on a wooden chair situated near the hearth and sighed as he stared at the fire. "When you hadn't shown for lunch, we weren't worried, thinking that you needed more time to yourself. But when dinner came and you still hadn't shown up, we became worried and searched for you. You weren't in your room or at the gardens. Grandmother then suggested that we search the Oaks family vault and there we found you sleeping on the floor, clutching a bloodied tunic as if it were a stuffed toy. It appeared that you had cried yourself to sleep."

He shifted his gaze from the fire to Ramia. Her eyes were downcast as she gripped the sheets firmly. "I…learned the truth down there, Galvin," she whispered chokingly. "That I am an—"

"Oaks," Galvin finished for her and she looked up in surprise. "Father has told me as much," he explained softly, the fire reflecting in his dark eyes.

"Did he say anything else?" Ramia loosened her hold on the sheets, but Galvin saw that she had become reserved, perhaps still coming to grips with the truth.

"Nothing beyond that," he shook his head. "I was hoping that maybe you could…" He then laughed uneasily. "Perhaps I shouldn't burden you with my curiosity seeing that you have a lot to mull through. Are you hungry?" he suddenly asked as he stood up. "I'll bring you dinner."

"Galvin, wait," Ramia called as he was about to leave. Galvin stopped and turned to look at her. "I shall tell you what you wish to know. No," she shook her head when Galvin was about to protest, "I feel that I should tell you... Tell you everything…"

"Are you sure?" Galvin asked a bit hesitantly and when Ramia nodded, he said, "Very well," resuming his seat by the fireplace. He then stared intently at Ramia, who had freed herself from the confines of her bed and was now looking out the window.

"I was born here in Oaks Keep," she began in a distant voice, "successor to a long line of knights that had served the royal family for many generations. Lord Oaks—Grandfather—was commander of Lesalia's St. Konoe Knights before he retired. My mother, Agrias Oaks, was a Holy Knight serving in Lesalia and would have followed in her father's footsteps, becoming commander of Lesalia's knights if she hadn't been convicted of terrible crimes."

Galvin saw anger flash in her eyes, saw a hand clenched tightly in rage. "I was very young," her voice was filled with anguish, "but I could never forget that day; the day my mother was taken away from me."

"What," Galvin paused, wondering if the question he was about to ask would offend her, seeing that the memory brought out feelings of anger and grief. He licked his lips nervously, feeling quite ill at ease. "What crimes was your mother con—" Again he paused, thinking of a better way to ask his question without giving offense. "What crimes was your mother," he began again, "_charged_ with?"

Ramia closed her eyes as she sighed. "Crimes that are all punishable by death," she whispered in reply as she opened her eyes and once again stared towards distant Lesalia. Her mind pierced through the walls and buildings until she could see the city square and the two platforms, the court of law that had condemned her mother to a life of servitude. Father Jaren's verdict rang clearly in her mind:

_"Agrias Oaks, you have been found guilty on all three charges of heresy, murder, and treason. You are hereby stripped of your rank and are sentenced to help rebuild Fort Zeakden and other ruins from the war along with other convicts such as yourself for as long as you have breath in your body."_

"Heresy, murder, and treason," she echoed softly, but Galvin heard it as loud as a thunderclap despite the crackling of the fire.

Those were dire crimes indeed, all punishable by death as Ramia had stated.

"Instead of death," Ramia continued, "she was condemned to lifelong servitude, rebuilding ruins from the Lion War."

"That's terrible," Galvin murmured, knowing that such degradation of a knight was a punishment far worse than death. A knight lived on two things: pride and honor. To have one or the other or both taken away is to strip the knight of their existence. In simpler words, to kill them, perhaps not physically but spiritually.

Ramia nodded. "My mother preferred death, but Father Jaren denied her request saying that death was an act of mercy, an easy escape route from the world. What's worse—"

"Wait a minute!" interjected Galvin. "Did you just say Father Jaren? The same Father Jaren that had presided over Lord Oaks' funeral this morning?"

"Ironically, yes," she whispered then chuckled softly. "Funny, isn't it? The priest that had blessed me with knighthood had also cursed my family name."

Galvin sat quietly, reflecting on what Ramia had told him. He wanted to say something to fill in the gap of silence that followed, but was saved the trouble when there came a knock on the door. Both of them turned to see Celinda enter followed by Demitri bearing a loaded tray from which appetizing smells wafted.

"I'm glad to see that you're well, Ramia," Lady Birch smiled as she approached her adopted daughter. "You had us all worried."

"I'm fine now, mother" Ramia returned with a faint smile. "Thank you." She then frowned upon realizing what she had called Celinda after her discovery of the truth recently and the hope that her real mother was still alive. "I still can call you mother, can I?" she asked her a bit apprehensively. Calling her Lady Birch or some other fancy title now seemed strange after the fifteen years she had known her as her mother.

"Of course, daughter!" Celinda happily replied as she embraced Ramia. "You may not be my daughter by blood, but you are the daughter of my heart."

Ramia was glad of the answer, returning Celinda's embrace fully.

"As I've told you before," Celinda said as they pulled apart, "whatever happens, we will always be there to support you. Now," she motioned towards the tray that Demitri had set down on the round wooden table besides Galvin, "you must be hungry. Why don't you eat and regain your strength?"

Ramia realized that she was indeed hungry, the odors emanating from the tray enticing her. She filled her belly, and with everyone's help, drained the fresh wine jug.

Demitri slowly sipped his share of the wine, studying Ramia carefully from the rim of his goblet. The sadness of today still lingered in her eyes, but now there was a glint of determination, of a purpose, of a path that she has decided to take.

_…a curse to those who finds it…_

He remembered Lord Oaks' words regarding the chest that a Divine Knight and two Shrine Knights had delivered all those years ago. Was it truly a curse then that Ramia had found the chest or was it more of a blessing?

Or perhaps both?

Maybe a curse had been placed on the young Holy Knight, the curse of knowing the truth, yet he felt it was a blessing as well. Now that Lady Ramia knew the truth about her heritage, he had no doubt that she would do anything in her power to regain the honor lost on that day. He hadn't been present during the trial, but he did receive news of it, saddening him but he still remained loyal to the family, praying that they would one day be redeemed.

Perhaps that day drew near.

"Is anything wrong, Demitri?" Ramia asked upon seeing his thoughtful expression.

Deep in thought, he was caught off guard by the question. Quickly gathering his wits about him, he murmured an answer: "Nothing's wrong, Ramia. I was just wondering what you're going to do now that you know your true heritage."

The determination he saw in her eyes seemed to burn brighter as she stared solemnly into the heart of the fire. The way she looked now reminded Demitri of Lady Agrias, remarking how alike they were. He stared intently at Ramia along with Celinda and Galvin, awaiting an answer.

"I'm going to clear mother's name." Her voice was clear, resolute. "I will restore honor to the Oaks name. This is the path I've chosen and I shall carve it to the best of my abilities."

"I have no doubt you will, Ramia," Celinda said as Galvin nodded in approval. Demitri was sipping his wine, gazing thoughtfully at Ramia once more. _So alike_, he mused as he finished his wine and excused himself from the room, taking the finished tray with him. _Lady Agrias would be proud of her daughter, worthy of the Oaks line._

"I guess we should be going too, grandmother" Galvin suggested as he stood up from his chair. "That wine has made me pleasantly sleepy. It would be wise to retire early." Celinda agreed and both said their good-nights to Ramia before leaving the room.

It was then, when she was alone, that Ramia noticed a chest between her wardrobe and armoire. Knowing the layout of her room, the chest did not belong there or at any other place for that matter. Curious, she went to it and as she neared, she saw that it suspiciously looked like the chest she found in the vault. Hoping it to be, she quickly opened it and smiled softly when she saw that it was.

She had planned on bringing the chest up so that she could take care of the equipment within, but was glad that someone had already relieved her of that task. "Perhaps it was Demitri," she murmured as she went to her armoire and retrieved a rag. "He seems to know what I'm thinking."

She then settled herself on the floor as she began to wipe down the dust that coated Agrias' equipment, happily humming a tune she suddenly remembered from her brief childhood here in Oaks Keep.

* * *

Andrew quietly sat near the hearth's fire where it provided him light and warmth to comfortably read a book. He frowned as he read Agnes' journal that Demitri had bestowed upon him, saying that it was Lord Oaks' wish that he read it. What he read so far, he found quite disturbing, his frown growing deeper. As he flipped a page, he heard someone enter the chamber. He paused in his reading as he looked up to see that it was his wife. "How is she?" he asked as she came to sit across from him on the bed.

"Surprisingly well," Celinda answered. "She's taking the truth better than we expected."

"That's good," Celinda heard the worry in her husband's voice, "because unlike her, the truth within these pages," he held up the book he was reading a moment ago, "is not taken so lightly."

"What is that book?" his wife questioned curiously. "And what truth does it contain?"

"It's Agnes' journal," he replied, "and the truth… Well," he passed the book to his wife, "it's best that you read it for yourself."

"But these are his private thoughts!" Celinda protested, pushing the tome away. "How could you take advantage of his death, Andrew? He was your most trusted friend!"

"And he trusted me to read this," Andrew returned calmly. "Demitri informed me of such and after reading it, I believe I know why."

He then grew quiet and Celinda took that as a sign for her to begin reading the journal. Passages upon passages she read, flipping through the pages quickly. The entries were written mostly about knightly matters and duties, but it seemed that Lord Oaks was also a creative man, reading his beautiful poetry with pleasure. Then there were those entries that talked about Ramia and the progress of her training in the knightly arts. It was in one of these passages that she found the cause of her husband's unease.

_June 22 in the 18th year after the Lion War_

_Today marks my daughter's forty-first birthday. Agrias… I have not forgotten you, my daughter, even after the disgrace you placed upon our family with your treachery. But you must have had a good reason to do what you did. You were always the sensible type, hiding a kind and gentle heart beneath that stern front you put on for everyone. I see these same qualities in your daughter, my granddaughter, and it's these qualities that remind me of you. However, there is something about Ramia that troubles me._

_They say that every noble family has a distinct fighting style, from their stance to their techniques. I had taught Ramia everything about our family techniques. She practices them everyday, in the gardens, the same as you, and I could not help but watch her with pride as she executes them with grace and efficiency. Today, however, was different._

_As I watched Ramia do her daily exercises, I noticed something peculiar about her stance and the way she swung her sword as she executed techniques that I had not taught her. I wondered how I had missed such details when she had been under my tutelage for three years now. I continued to watch in curiosity as she continued to drill herself in the sword, performing both techniques taught by me and the unknown. It was then, when she executed a technique involving two quick sideward slashes that was finished by a downward slash as she followed through with her previous slash by jumping and turning in the air in a full circle, did I realize where and who I had seen performing those same techniques._

_Could it be that I may have discovered who Ramia's father is? What else could explain that stance and those techniques? Blood calls to blood after all. If what I saw is true, then there is no doubt on who the father is…or was. It could be none other than—_

"Good heavens!" Celinda gasped as she read the name. "It can't be!" She then looked at her husband, who was staring out the window, and asked anxiously: "Do you think it's true? That Ramia's father is…"

Andrew let out a long sigh. "There's only one way to find out. It seems we'll be staying here a little longer, my wife." He then turned towards her and gently took the journal from her saying, "But I know this," and much to Celinda's surprise, Andrew threw the book into the fireplace, watching solemnly as the fire consumed the pages, blackening them to ashes…

"No one else must know of this."

* * *

Morning sunlight fell slanting onto Ramia's face so that she awoke feeling refreshed, yawning and stretching before she pushed back the sheets and rose. She smiled in greeting to the new day, to a new beginning. There was a lot of work to be done this day, the first and paramount task to be is to remove the black cloth covering the banners. The time of mourning has passed. It was time to forge ahead. No use dwelling in the past…

The past.

Ramia frowned, turning away from the window to approach the table where she had placed her mother's armaments the night before. The Crystal Helmet glinted faintly as did the breastplate with its tripartite crown etched at the center and a small wreath of oak leaves at the upper left. Ramia briefly passed a hand over the equipment, clenching it afterwards.

A stained past was difficult to erase, to forget, especially when your family was renowned for their loyalty and service to the royal family. _But I will_, she vowed silently, staring a moment longer at the equipment she had lovingly cleansed before getting dressed for the day.

Clothed in a white linen shirt and brown trousers, her sword swaying at her side, the black ribbon gone now, she marched to the dining hall where the rest of her family was gathered around the table, engaged in quiet conversation. They took a pause in their meal to greet her as she joined them, taking her seat next to Celinda.

It was their first meal together ever since she and Galvin had left Limberry to become knights. Ramia was glad for their company as she joined in their conversation, nibbling on a biscuit.

"So Ramia, what do you plan on doing today?" Andrew asked from the head of the table.

"Why do you ask, father?" Ramia returned nonchalantly.

"Because I was wondering if you are up for sparring with me this afternoon," her father replied. "I'm curious to see what skills my dear departed friend has taught you."

There was a pause as Ramia swallowed a piece of her meal. "I would very much like that, father. I've always wanted to test my skills against a _worthy_," she smirked teasingly at Galvin, "opponent."

Galvin sputtered in anger when he saw Ramia's smirk, nearly choking on his meal so that his mother had to pound him on the back to help him catch his breath. Alex smiled at his son's reaction. "Perhaps we'll join you in your little sparring practice, father," he said as he rubbed his bearded chin. "I'm curious to see my son's skills as well."

Galvin would have protested if he wasn't occupied with clearing his airway. "Very well then!" Andrew exclaimed with a chuckle. "I'm looking forward to this afternoon."

Soon after, breakfast was adjourned and everyone went their separate ways. Ramia called for Demitri, the majordomo of the household, to her late grandfather's study. Answering her summons, he faced her now across the width of an ornate desk, awaiting her instructions.

Ramia frowned at the majordomo, seeing that he still wore a black sash about his waist. "Remove that sash, Demitri," she instructed compellingly. "The time of mourning has passed," she continued as Demitri obeyed her instruction. "Tell the others as such. Also, I want the paintings in the vault to be put back to their respective places and for the black cloth to be removed from the banners."

"As you wish," Demitri said. "And…the banners?"

Ramia heard the uncertainty in his voice. He had a right to feel that way for to leave the banners is to proclaim that the Oaks line still thrived despite the death of, supposedly, the last of the bloodline because in Lesalia, Ramia was known as a Birch instead of an Oaks. Certainly, the banners would attract attention if they were left hanging on the walls. But there was something her grandfather had told her in her dream, something about not being ashamed of her name.

"They shall remain," she declared.

Demitri nodded, smiling faintly in approval. The decision to leave the banners hanging is a sign that she had accepted her heritage despite the risk of ridicule and criticism that was sure to come from the nobles.

"I shall personally attend to the removal of the black cloth," Ramia continued, "when you are ready. Other than that, I have no further instructions. You are dismissed, Demitri."

The chief steward bowed and took his leave, but as he was about to open the door, he stopped and looked at Ramia. "On behalf of all of us here in Oaks Keep, I must say that we are glad to have you back, Ramia Oaks," he said appreciatively. "We have long waited for the time when the Oaks name shall be spoken proudly once again. We have faith in you and," he smiled softly, "we are proud of you. You are surely worthy of the Oaks line." He then quietly left the room, leaving Ramia to meditate on his departing words.

She turned and stared out of a window, seeing that the study looked on to a patch of the garden where gardeners were already busy tending the shrubs and trees that grew there. One glanced up, catching her eye and waving. Ramia waved back, smiling, thinking that if all this was what she was to inherit then it would be easy to find a sense of purpose.

She watched the branches of the trees sway to the wind, multi-colored leaves scattering in its wake, much like herself slowly casting off her Birch name and as spring sprout new leaves on the trees; she too hoped that by then she would sprout as an Oaks and no longer a Birch.

She pondered the future as she continued to watch the leaves fall like snowflakes until Demitri returned announcing that they were ready to remove the black cloth. As she left the room, a small leaf fluttered through the open window, settling itself on the desk near a childish drawing of a knight hidden among the papers…

* * *

Ramia supervised the removal of the black cloth, looking up at the walls from the entrance of the keep as the familiar green and silver banners were slowly revealed. The silver wreath of oak leaves seem to blaze brightly as the sun shone on them for the first time in a month.

As she admired the standards, pleased to see them swaying in the breeze once more, she heard the faint clanking of armor in the air. She and Demitri—who was standing besides her—turned to see two riders approaching from the road.

The flash of armor indicated that they were knights and when they had come closer, she recognized that one was a Shrine Knight and the other was the Divine Knight that attended to Father Jaren.

Tomas and his companion rode through the two oak trees that marked the entryway to Oaks Keep into the enclosure, only to halt scant feet away from Ramia and Demitri. "Greetings, Lady Ramia," the Divine Knight greeted as he dismounted from his chocobo followed by the Shrine Knight. "Please forgive us for our sudden arrival, but Father Jaren thought it imperative that you should receive this." He gestured to the Shrine Knight, who stepped forward carrying what seemed to be a bundle of cloth, presenting it to Ramia.

"It's the Oaks family banner that once hung at the throne room," Tomas explained. "Father Jaren thought it best to give it to you, Lord Oaks' prized pupil."

"I understand," Ramia whispered softly as she took the proffered banner reverently. As with the banners at the keep, the banner at the palace had also been covered in black cloth for the past month. Now for that banner to be removed from the throne room is to say that the Oaks family no longer exists to serve the royal family.

But Ramia promised within her heart, as she thanked and bid farewell to both knights, that the banner would hang from the ceiling of the throne room once again, no longer stained with the past, but respected as an equal among the knighthood.

Placing the banner in her armoire, she later joined Demitri as he and the other servants replaced the paintings on the walls of the keep until noon. She learned that her family were out in Lesalia and so requested the majordomo to join her for lunch. Demitri happily obliged, honored by her request.

Ramia saw Demitri as a friend than a manservant, both sitting at the long table in the dining hall. Ever since the day she came to Oaks Keep, she came to rely on the white-haired man. And now that Lord Oaks was dead, she came to rely on him more in both his friendship and advice.

That was why she had invited him for lunch.

Both were silent for a while, enjoying their simple meal. Demitri could see that Ramia was deep in thought, her eyes staring blankly at her plate, eating more from habit than want of food. He did not mention it, eating his own plate in silence. Then suddenly:

"Demitri."

The manservant looked up at the call of his name, seeing Ramia staring thoughtfully at her plate. "Demitri," she began again, then looked up at him, "did you…know my mother?"

"Yes," Demitri nodded solemnly. "I knew her since she was but a child."

Ramia's eyes seem to light up at that answer as she eagerly leaned forward in her seat. "Can you tell me about her? I want to learn more about her."

"I'll be happy to tell you anything you wish to know, Ramia," Demitri smiled as he settled comfortably in his seat.

Though the dining hall wasn't really the best place to tell stories, Ramia didn't seem to mind as she listened with a keen ear, nodding in some parts where she agreed and sometimes laughing in parts she found amusing. She was so engrossed in the stories that she nearly missed her sparring appointment with Andrew.

* * *

Standing beneath the shade of an oak, Andrew watched Alex and Galvin spar with wooden swords, their dull thudding a contrast to the rustling of the leaves as a light breeze blew.

Galvin's mouth opened in a snarling yell as he hurled himself forward, sword lifting as though he intended to smash the blade against his father's unprotected head. Alex stepped sideways as the sword came down, his own moving to block and cut, but Galvin turned in midstroke, shifting the direction of his swing without lessening its momentum so that his sword moved over his father's, landing hard against Alex's forearms. The blow slowed the Limberrian knight and Galvin whirled away even as he thrust forward, his stroke reversing to hack against Alex's back.

Alex gasped at the force of it, his feet shuffling an intricate pattern as he sought to move out of range and turn to counter the attack Galvin pressed home. The wooden sword clattered together, then both men were swinging away, returning, trading blow for blow until Alex's blade struck Galvin's neck and Galvin's landed in a side-swing against his father's midriff.

"Enough." Alex grounded his wooden sword and his son followed suit, wiping a hand across his sweat-beaded forehead. "That was done well, Galvin," he said, the approval shining on his face, echoed in his voice. "I am proud of you."

Galvin smiled in the warmth of his father's praise. "Thank you, father," he returned, as solemnly as he was able.

"You have improved both in skill and in strength," Alex continued smiling. "I have no doubt that you will fare well in a battle. Isn't that so, father?" He turned to Andrew, who nodded in agreement as he said, "I believe so, though on that last cut, both of you should have died." He then grinned at his son. "It seems that you have an equal, Alex."

Galvin chuckled at that remark. "If that's true, grandfather, then father will have no chance against Ramia because she has beaten me more times than I could count despite my 'improvement'."

"Is that so?" Alex grinned in amusement as he ruffled his son's hair, missing the frown that crossed his father's features upon Galvin's remark. "I find that hard to believe!"

"Speaking of Ramia," Andrew muttered as he rubbed his beard, his eyes focused on the path to the side of them, "she's late."

With that thought, darkness invaded the sunlit afternoon as a cloud drifted overhead, which only served to darken his mood. Minutes ticked by before the sun shone its glorious face once more and with it, the hurried footsteps of someone approaching quickly.

Ramia knew that she was late when she saw her father's frown as she neared. She arrived, gasping apologies, but Andrew waved a dismissive hand. "I'm just glad you were able to make it, Ramia," he said. "Are you ready or do you want to rest a while?"

"No," Ramia replied, her voice surprisingly calm and clear despite having panted for breath a moment before, her hazel eyes staring hard at Andrew's. "I'm ready."

Lord Birch grunted and nodded in approval. When Alex was about to hand him the wooden sword, he shook his head. "No, we'll be using naked blades." Galvin gasped while Alex frowned in disapproval. Andrew stared at Ramia who seemed not the least bit afraid.

"But, father," Alex protested, "either of you could get hurt…or worse, killed."

"Father's right!" Galvin quickly added, concerned for them especially Ramia. It was not everyday that you spar with a veteran as his grandfather. He was certain that she was no match for Andrew Birch, former commander of the Aegis Knights of Limberry, in spite of her prowess. "Both of you are not wearing any protective armor."

Andrew ignored their objections as he continued to stare at Ramia. There was a reason why he wanted to duel with naked blades. It was the only way to see if Agnes had spoken true about Ramia's father. A wooden blade was not the same as a regular sword. It was cumbersome and it could not perform as well as a steel blade. He needed Ramia to be at her best and to be so is to duel with a real sword.

Lord Birch silently drew his sword and Ramia did likewise much to Alex and Galvin's heated disapproval. "Stand back!" he ordered them with a swing from his sword. "I don't want you to get hurt on our behalf."

Seeing that arguing would not change their minds, Alex and Galvin reluctantly stepped back, but kept a hand near the hilt of their own swords, planning to intervene if things got out of hand.

Andrew assumed a defensive stance, watching as Ramia took an attack stance, placing most of her weight on her left foot, raising her left arm in front of her as if she held a shield. Her sword was held up to the side of her as she studied her father, her hazel eyes impassive.

Unfortunately, Andrew did not recognize the stance, having never seen it before. But if he had, it escaped his memory at the moment.

And at that moment, his daughter decided to make her move.

Ramia roared as her feet carried her swift across the grass, her sword swinging in a furious arc at her father's skull. Andrew raised his own sword and steel rang loud against steel. "Come now, Ramia," Andrew scoffed. "Is that the best you can do? Show me what Agnes taught you! Show me that you are truly an Oaks!"

_Show me the part of you that is your father!_

"Fine," answered the Holy Knight, "I will!"

She turned her sword as Andrew parried, deflecting her father's cut, driving in again to hack at his belly. Andrew stood his ground, trading blow for blow, the garden filled with the clamor of steel on steel. Alex and Galvin watched anxiously, seeing that the duel was becoming serious as Andrew rained critical blows on Ramia. Fortunately, Ramia was quick to turn those blows and answer in kind as she slowly drove her father back toward a wall of trees.

Lord Birch's arms soon ached from the jarring blows of his daughter. They were quick, precise, and powerful.

The blows of an Oaks.

But there seemed to be a graceful quality added to those blows, something that an Oaks was incapable of performing, of replicating. The fighting style was a mixture of both the Oaks style and the style of her father's family. No sooner was this realized that Andrew knew Agnes had written true in his journal.

It was soon confirmed when Ramia suddenly ducked under his swing and turned, the flat of her sword sweeping him off his feet. Andrew quickly rolled back to avoid Ramia's follow up attack, feeling her blade cut the grass from where he was a moment before, but Ramia was upon him as soon as he was on his feet.

Her blows were becoming more dangerous, nearly drawing blood if he wasn't quick enough to block or dodge it at the last second. He needed to end this now.

"Father, stop them!" Galvin urged, unable to bear the sight, seeing that Ramia could kill Andrew in one precise blow. "Grandfather's going to get killed!"

Alex, however, did not hear his son's plea, instead his eyes fixed on the battle raging across the grass. Like his father, he had recognized the fighting technique Ramia was employing. _Impossible_, he thought, _but it is. Does father know? Was this why he wanted to duel using naked blades? _He watched closely as Ramia smiled, sensing her victory. She suddenly jumped back, holding her sword behind in a stance that Alex knew well.

"No!" he cried as he rushed forward, sword in hand as she was about to swing her own. "Ramia! That's enough!" He moved his sword to deflect the swing that surprisingly did not come. Instead, he found Ramia leaning on her sword, laughing.

"Do you really think I would go through with that move, Alex?" she asked. "I had no intention of hurting father. Besides," she sheathed her sword and grinned, "I won."

"True."

Andrew stepped forward, beaming as he looked at his daughter with pride. "I did my best. I have no regrets for losing. You've trained well. Both of you," he added as Galvin came to join them. "Such courage and diligence is lacking in knights these days." He turned to his son. "We leave Oaks Keep in good hands."

"Indeed," Alex agreed.

"You're leaving?" Ramia looked from her father to her brother then back to her father again in disbelief. "So soon?"

Andrew smiled then, a thin and narrow spreading of his lips, and answered her: "You're not a child anymore, Ramia. I don't need to take you by the hand and tell you where to go. Only you can decide what you do from now on. I'm sure your grandfather told you as much."

Ramia nodded. "I must carve out my own path. Only I can decide what I make of it. It is the Oaks way."

"And an Oaks you are," her father said.

"When are you leaving?" suddenly asked Galvin, referring to Ramia's earlier comment.

"On the morrow," Andrew replied. "Now come," he turned and began walking towards the keep. "It's best we wash this sweat off before attending dinner."

The others agreed and fell into step beside him as they ambled across the grass darkened with the lengthening shadows of the surrounding trees as the sun had begun to set to the west.

* * *

Ramia sighed as she plunged into the steaming water of the tub. She floated in the heated water, her eyes closed as her muscles loosened, cleansing the sweat from the effects of the duel. She could stay there thinking idly of nothing in particular.

She lay there until her stomach reminded her that it was time for dinner, and rose to dry herself and after, dress in a shirt of gray linen surmounted with a sleeveless tunic of soft leather and breeks of matching hide fitting snug into her high boots. Ready, she went to join her family at the dining hall, the appetizing smells of roasted meats and fresh-cooked vegetables quickening her steps as she approached.

The hall was no larger than Limberry Castle's own dining room. Great windows of glass filled the hall with the fading autumn sunlight that danced over the flagstones of the floor, sparking off the sconces set into the stone walls. Tapestries covered most of the stone, ancient banners that hung between niches in which stood small pots of various plants and ancient suits of armor.

Seeing that the others were already seated, she made her way down the hall to the far end facing the minstrels' gallery that stood above the door. She smiled in greeting as she took her traditional place next to her mother. This was to be their last meal together and though the thought saddened her somewhat, it was good to know that they leave with no regrets of supporting her in her decisions, that they leave as part of her family.

And as such, they ate as a family, talking of the day's events. Celinda and Tiana spoke of what they bought at the many shops in Lesalia, saying that a trip to the capital was well worth their time and money since they did not travel much beyond Limberry.

As the ladies were shopping, Andrew and Alex paid a visit to the palace hoping to spar and talk with a few knights on duty there, but were disappointed and somewhat disgusted at how things were handled in the palace. Prince Clemence was an idle ruler who did not hear the cries of his people, but only the cries of the Church. And like their ruler, the knights belonging to either the St. Konoe or Atkascha orders had become lax in their duties, wasting their day away at the taverns or lounging at their posts while the Shrine Knights seem to enjoy their occupation of the capital, seeming to step all over the knights of both orders.

Both men told as such and Ramia could not help but nod in agreement.

"Prince Clemence needs to set his priorities straight," Andrew began in a grave tone, "or the people will start rebelling. Ivalice is like a powder keg ready to blow. If it comes to civil war…" He sighed as he shook his head.

Everyone on the table shared his sentiments about the state of affairs in Ivalice. Lest someone was brave enough to unite them and lead them against the Church, they could not do anything but endure this oppression.

They all longed for the day when Ivalice would be free of fear and oppression from the Church.

Despite the dark rumors the Birches heard from the capital, dinner ended on a high note with Ramia telling her plans for the morrow and the others voicing their approval. They then retired to their chambers, the day's exciting events settling down with yawns and well wishes as they each found their beds.

* * *

Sunrise found Ramia fresh bathed and dressed in a clean pair of clothes similar to yesterday's garb, standing in the stable yard as Andrew and Alex saddled their mounts while the grooms readied the carriage that Celinda and Tiana were to ride. It was clearly going to be another fine day, the sky clear and the sun already warm enough to lift the early chill.

The travelers were dressed in simpler clothes, Andrew and Alex readily reassuming their riding gear, their swords at their sides, while their wives both wore gowns of practical cut, designed for the relatively close quarters of the carriage rather than for the banqueting hall.

"Ready, Lord Birch," the driver of the carriage announced when the grooms finished. "By your leave, we ride as soon as we may."

Andrew nodded then turned to Ramia and Galvin. All said their farewells, exchanging embraces and kisses. The two men then mounted their chocobos as the women embarked the carriage.

Ramia raised a hand in farewell as the party rode away from the stable. She watched until they grew indistinct against the green of the grass and then turned to Galvin, who stared longingly after his family.

"You know, you could have gone with them," she commented softly. "You're not bound to serve here anymore."

Galvin gave a soft smile, his eyes still set to the distance. "I took an oath to serve the Oaks family. Knowing that Lord Oaks left behind a granddaughter, that vow still holds." He then turned to look at her. "Besides, you need some looking after even though you are a Holy Knight. I'm sure grandfather and father would agree."

"I'm sure they would," Ramia agreed, smiling. "I'm glad you decided to stay, Galvin."

He nodded. "Me too."

Ramia wondered, as they went back to the keep to help Demitri and the others clean and organize the west wing, if Galvin had made the right decision to stay. Though thankful for his gesture, she could not help but feel as if she had endangered him. She was the daughter of a heretic after all. Who knows what would happen to him once news broke out that she was trying to clear her mother's name? Would the nobles ridicule him for supporting her? And what about his family? What would happen to them?

The repercussions could be devastating, but there was nothing she could do now but go on with her path. Certainly she had never been in this situation before, and even as a part of her wondered what she did and where it should lead, another told her that this was what she wanted.

She would delay no longer.

* * *

Galvin and Demitri stared at Ramia and shook their heads in wonderment.

"Ramia…" the majordomo breathed as he bowed in respect. "_Lady_ Ramia… "

Ramia nodded, her hazel eyes burning with resolve, her jaw set.

Both men studied her as if for the first time, which in a way it was, for this day must, they knew, change her life. She was dressed in a long, blue tunic with sleeves that covered the full length of her arms; the Reflect Mail went on over that, its etched symbols of the tripartite crown and wreath of oak leaves prominent on its gleaming surface. Pants of soft brown emerged from the armor, going down her legs where knee guards interrupted their flow into huge, worn brown boots. Her hair was bound in a thick braid, held together by a blue ribbon. The Excalibur hung in a dull scabbard at her side, the knight sword glowing faintly at the hilt, yearning to be wielded again after a fifteen-year-long slumber. She stood very straight, her bearing noble, and they felt awed by her presence.

"It is time," spoke Ramia, her voice solemn.

Galvin nodded. "I shall await for your return, my lady."

He followed Demitri's example, bowing as Ramia left the entrance hall, following the corridor that led to the stables. Her chocobo waited there, its crested head turning at her approach. It warked a greeting and Ramia smiled softly in answer as the groom handed her the reins, stepping back as she swung astride her mount.

The sun hung hidden behind a bank of dark clouds that covered the sky as she rode through the paved tunnel and began the journey down the hill to the main road at its base where it would inevitably bring her to Lesalia.

Normally, she would have enjoyed the little ride to the capital, watching as butterflies flitted about the wildflowers that grew along the road, but with the change of seasons also came the change of perspective.

She was no longer the squire training at the palace or the knight mourning the lost of her lord. She was the daughter of a Holy Knight who believed in her mother's courage and it was this belief that gave her the strength to overcome the obstacles that would surely come…

The first being the meeting with Father Jaren.

Lesalia's north gate appeared ahead, its gaping archway inviting all to enter. The Shrine Knights on duty leaned casually against wall or spear, yawning as the sun finally burst forth from its cloudy prison to shine on their golden armor. Ramia trotted confidently into their midst, pausing long enough for them to do their duty of monitoring visitors.

Recognizing her immediately, they let her pass with not so much as an inquiry despite the armor she wore. Being knights of the Church, they were not familiar with it.

But the commoners were.

Ramia stared straight ahead as she rode along the avenue, hearing gasps and faint whisperings from the people that had begun to throng the street. If she were paying any attention, she would have seen that some were actually bowing their heads in respect as she passed.

Out of habit, she almost turned to a side street that would bypass the city square, but she stopped and continued along the avenue. This time she would ride through the square to reach the palace, not for want of a shorter route, but the desire to see it.

The place where her life was forever changed.

She saw the square up ahead, saw the two platforms. She slowed her chocobo as she entered the archway marking the entrance to the enclosed space, staring hard at the court of law. Voices from the past echoed as shadowy images began to fill the square. Her chocobo pranced nervously, sensing its rider's grief and anger.

Her mind had traveled back in time to that day fifteen years ago.

Ramia was transfixed as she again witnessed the flogging of her mother tied onto the single wooden post. She unknowingly clutched the reins of her mount as the apparition of a Shrine Knight swung back the plaited leather.

And as it fell on her mother's shoulders, Ramia flinched.

Each time the lash descended, Ramia clutched the reins tighter.

At each blow, Ramia grew angrier.

And as the shadow of her younger self shouted, so did she.

"Mama!"

Ramia drew the Excalibur, the sword glowing brightly as if in anticipation of the holy power that would once again flow through its blade. Thunder rumbled above as she urged her chocobo towards the platform, towards that single post, shouting, "Absorb power in the sky and strike!" She held her sword up toward the heavens and lightning snaked its way to the blade, imbuing it with its power.

"Lightning Stab!"

She swung her sword, releasing the holy energy stored in her blade. Thunder boomed as a few lightning bolts crashed down upon the platform. The wood gave way, splintering under the might of the Holy Sword skill and in a few seconds the platform was nothing more than kindling.

The citizens of Lesalia heard the disturbance and as they gathered at the entrance to the city square to investigate, Ramia had already ridden away towards the palace.

Thundering through the gates and into the flagstoned courtyard, she hopped off her chocobo, paying no heed to the grooms who briefly glanced at her, recognizing her armor, as they hastily stabled her mount, whispering in shocked tones. The two plate-armored halberdiers guarding the door to the palace also recognized the armor, being part of the Lesalia's St. Konoe Knights, and as Ramia passed between them, they could not help but bow in respect.

Unlike her first visit to the palace that had elicited stares of wonder and surprise from those roaming the halls, this time they gasped as she charged through the corridors, and more than once she thought she heard her mother's name being whispered among them.

She smiled faintly, pleased with their reaction. The memory of Agrias Oaks still lived, whether with respect or not remained to be determined. That small detail, however, bolstered her courage considerably, and when she reached the doors to the audience chamber, she was ready to confront the priest.

Tomas stared in mild curiosity when Ramia burst into the audience chamber. Knights posted around the room gazed in shock at the disturbance, as if they had woken up from slumber. Only Jaren Kazut exhibited no emotion, simply setting down his quill and looking at Ramia with dark questioning eyes.

"Father Jaren, I must speak with you," Ramia declared in a strong, clear voice that seemed to magnify within the chamber.

Jaren nodded and motioned Ramia forward. "I see that you are wearing the armor I had gifted Lord Oaks a long time ago," he commented when he could see her clearly.

"A fitting inheritance being that this armor belonged to my mother," said the Holy Knight, her hazel eyes glaring.

A black brow rose, like an arching caterpillar, Jaren's small eyes fixing her inquiringly. "I'm sorry, but I believe I did not hear you correctly," he said. "Did you say that the armor you are wearing now belonged to your mother?" And when Ramia nodded, he exclaimed, "Preposterous! Your mother, Lady Celinda Birch, is not a knight nor is she capable of holding a sword."

"That is because she is my foster mother," Ramia countered. "My _true_ mother," she paused as she looked at each of the knights—Lesalian knights—noting their discomfort as they avoided her gaze, "is Lord Oaks' daughter, Agrias Oaks! Do any of you deny it?"

She looked around again and saw that a few knights averted their eyes while others hung their heads in shame. Tomas remained silent while Jaren grunted, searching for a parchment among the stack of papers to his side, and as he did he asked, "And how did you come to that conclusion, Lady Ramia?"

Ramia lowered her head, her eyes hooded in shadow so that those present could not see her sorrow. "I remember…" she whispered painfully. "I remember everything… My childhood at Oaks Keep… The trial… The adoption… I remember it all…"

"I see…" Jaren finally found the parchment he was looking for, pulling it out from the pile to be placed before him, pausing briefly as he read the document before speaking again. "Then you know that the person you speak of is a criminal of the Church, a heretic; also a traitor and a murderer. Now that doesn't sound like the mother of a prestigious Holy Knight. Isn't that so, Lady Ramia?"

"No, it doesn't," she replied softly then raised her head and looked directly at the priest. "That is why I was adopted by the Birch family, to protect me from the truth." Her voice gained strength as she continued: "Now that I have uncovered the truth, I wish to do something about it."

The priest sighed. "What I said at Lord Oaks' funeral was true. I do admire you, Lady Ramia, and I do not want any harm to befall you. I do not deny that Agrias is your mother, but if you insist on helping her, then I have no choice then to arrest you and convict you of heresy for aiding a heretic. Your mother was convicted of the same crime. I pray that you not follow her footsteps. It would be a shame to lose such a promising Holy Knight among the ranks."

His words carried a note of finality that Ramia could not help but hang her head in defeat. "I understand," she whispered chokingly. "Thank you for your time, Father." She bowed and quickly turned away, determined to leave as composed as she had entered despite her unbearable sorrow at her failure.

"If you wish to see her, she's being held in Bethla Garrison."

Ramia paused in mid-step, startled at the priest's words. She looked back and saw that Jaren smiled. "I can grant that much at least," he explained.

Ramia nodded her thanks. "Bethla Garrison…" she murmured as she left the room.

Jaren's smile grew wider when Ramia left, pulling out a clean piece of parchment and scribbling a quick letter. "Tomas," he called, sprinkling sand on the wet ink to hasten the drying process, "take this letter to the jailor guarding the heretic."

The Divine Knight, hoping to get a quick glimpse at the letter, stepped slightly forward, craning his neck somewhat over the priest's shoulder, but the ink had already dried and Jaren was affixing his seal. Not wanting to look too obvious, he stepped back as he was given the letter.

"It carries special instructions regarding our prisoner," the priest explained in brief. "Make sure he receives it."

Tomas nodded in understanding and left in silence. If it had been fifteen years ago, he would have questioned Jaren, but he soon learned that it was better to obey without question to be in good terms with the priest.

And Jaren was in a good mood, chuckling portentously as he filled a goblet with red wine. "Everything is going according to plan." He sipped his wine, savoring its taste and the captures that were sure to come, unaware of the uneasy glances of the knights present…

* * *

Ramia sat at the table in her room, gazing hard at the fire burning in the hearth, its light reflected in her eyes.

Night had fallen in Lesalia, the sun gone behind the western horizon, the twinkling of the lights marking the Imperial Capital joining the starlit sky so that one must look closely to distinguish star from distant torch.

A decanter stood at her elbow, a cup of cider clutched in her right hand. She vaguely sipped her drink, watching the flames flicker, the logs crackling gently in the quiet of her room.

_Your mother was a Holy Knight of Lesalia?_

That question came from a young squire shortly after her meeting with Father Jaren. Delighted to hear such a curious inquiry, she happily—proudly—answered. Her reply spawned more questions from the squire, who seemed to be eager to learn more.

She smiled at the memory, sipping her cider once more. She had been happy to answer them until a group of three knights came, their presence scaring the squire away.

Ramia frowned then, gripping the cup tightly, brows furrowing in anger. Noticing her armor, they had begun to question her, asking how she came by it and why she was wearing it. Unashamed, she told them everything, but before she could finish, they had begun to laugh at her.

_"Worthy knights don't betray us like she did," _one had commented derisively._ "A disgrace is what she is." _

With an anguished cry, Ramia flung her cup into the fireplace, the flames bursting briefly before settling down to its usual glow. She closed her eyes, holding her head in her open palm, trying to hold back the tears that welled in her eyes as a choked sob escaped her lips.

"Damn them…" she muttered bitterly. "Damn them all!"

The tears flowed then, weeping at the futility of her chosen path. She knew that there were some that still honored the name of Oaks, but because of their fear for Jaren, none were willing to support her. Unknowingly, she cried herself to sleep as the fire burned low…

And dreamt…

Of a childhood memory where she held her mother's sword, gazing up in awe as her mother made some slight adjustments in her armor. She then would lift the sword up to her with great difficulty, her eyes shining in wonderment as her mother outfitted the weapon, her last piece of equipment, before being carried off to the stables where she would be given a kiss and a hug. Her mother would then ride off to Lesalia, giving a last wave as she disappeared over the hill's bend…

Ramia woke with a start, head jerking upright from the table. She winced at the crick in her neck, rubbing the sore spot as her eyes wandered around the room, coming to a halt at the sheathed sword lying on the table just in front of her.

It suddenly occurred to her that the answer she had been seeking was there all along, right beneath her very nose. Chuckling softly at her idiocy, she reached for the sword, lifting it in both hands. How odd it was that the sword she found to be a burden as a child had become light in her hands…

In the hands of its rightful successor.

There came a soft hiss as Ramia pulled the weapon partly out of its sheath. _Mother, I will not fail you_, she vowed silently, staring at her reflection on the blade, those determined eyes staring back. _No matter how hopeless it seems…_

As she placed the sword back into its sheath, there came a knock on her door accompanied by a voice: "Ramia, are you awake? Galvin is waiting for you in the dining hall for breakfast."

_Breakfast!_

She looked out the window and saw that she had slept the night away at the table. The sun was not long risen, but still it lit the dome of the distant palace as if the roof was a second sun. Compared to yesterday's overcast, the sky was a pristine blue, dew glistening on the grass swaying in the breeze.

"Tell Galvin I'll join him shortly," Ramia replied loudly as she rummaged through her wardrobe, pulling out a linen shirt, leather jerkin and breeches, suitable attire for a chocobo ride.

"And prepare our chocobos," she added once dressed. "We'll be going on a journey."

She grabbed the Excalibur on the table as the voice asked through the door, "A journey? To where?"

Ramia turned to the window, her eyes set as she watched a flock of birds soaring to the east. She too would soon be following those birds, heading southeast to…

"Bethla Garrison."


	18. Reunion

**Chapter Seventeen: Reunion**

Grog Hill.

The harvesting season nearly at its end as autumn gave way to winter, the fields that were usually covered in wheat were now nearly barren, the crops taken to the capital for storage.

The day was coming to a close, the setting sun coloring the distant horizon a fiery red as Ramia and Galvin rode their way through the fields, politely nodding in greeting to passing carts hauling the harvest.

Both had been riding the whole day, Ramia intent on reaching Bethla Garrison as soon as possible, Galvin obediently following behind. He did not question this unexpected trip, believing that it had something to do with her mother, seeing that she kept on touching the hilt of her sword as if seeking strength from it.

They reached a crossroads as the sun finally disappeared, the moon rising in the east, narrowed to almost disappearing. "Ramia, we should make camp soon," Galvin suggested, seeing a large party gathered around a fire to their left.

Ramia, too, noticed the party and nodded in agreement to Galvin's suggestion. She was indeed tired and hungry. They had ridden nonstop since leaving the keep in the morning. The chocobos needed to rest and regain their strength if they were to reach Bethla as soon as they were able. With that thought, she turned right at the intersection, opposite the camping group, leaving them behind, both riders unaware of a certain flaxen-haired man staring after them…

* * *

Ramza stared after the two riders until they were swallowed by the darkness and still, he continued to stare down that road, his expression troubled. He was so focused in that direction that he did not notice his sister's approach until she spoke: "Is something wrong, brother? What are you looking at?"

He did not reply immediately, only staring out into the darkness, the campfire flickering shadows across his haunted face. "Nothing…" he finally spoke in a whisper, more to himself than in answer to his sister. "It's nothing…"

Later that night, as the others slept, Ramza sat looking up to the sky, wondering if his friends that were in hiding saw the same stars. Without averting his gaze from the heavens, he placed a hand on the ground, pulling on a blade of grass besides him, and began to blow on it, a soft whistling disturbing the stillness of the hill.

"You saw her, didn't you?"

The whistle shrilled in surprise, Ramza turning to see Cloud sitting on a boulder across from him, staring, his eerily glowing eyes seeming to shine as bright as the stars above, waiting patiently for an answer.

Ramza sighed as he again looked up at the stars. "Was that her?"

"Ramia," Cloud stated as he nodded, joining Ramza as he too gazed up at the stars, wondering which one was his world, "Agrias' daughter."

"So, it was her," whispered Ramza, bringing the blade of grass to his lips, a lonely note humming along the gentle breeze. He sighed again as the note faded away, the breeze strengthening a bit as if that one note summoned it.

Cloud looked at Ramza inquisitively. "Do you want to see her?" he asked, jabbing a finger towards the opposite road adding, "They've made camp a little ways there. If we stay hidden, we can watch unnoticed."

Ramza pondered the idea a moment. It's true that he wanted to see her, probably even meet her, but by doing so he may be endangering Agrias' life and perhaps his friends' as well. As Cloud had told him and Delita in Zarghidas, Ramia grew up not knowing that Agrias was her mother and, therefore, grew up with the knowledge that he and his friends was the enemy. She would not hesitate to arrest them and bring them to 'justice' or perhaps kill them on sight.

"No, not yet," Ramza shook his head. "I will not risk being seen until we meet with the others. Until then…" His voice trailed away as he shook his head once again. Then, hoping to change the subject, asked, "How many more days will it take us to reach the others, Cloud? I'm anxious to meet them."

_But I'm not sure they're eager to see me_, he thought darkly.

"Three to four days," replied the SOLDIER and, as if he read Ramza's thought, added, "They've been waiting for you."

Ramza stared at him skeptically, hoping to see that Cloud spoke more in comfort than in truth, but what he saw in those glowing eyes was the latter. They had indeed been waiting for him. He suddenly felt guilty at that thought, the same as he had felt when he had heard the news from Kyshon.

"I'm sorry," he whispered apologetically.

"For what?" Cloud slightly tilted his head to the side, staring at him curiously.

"For taking this long to come," answered Ramza.

The corners of Cloud's mouth curved slightly in a comforting smile. "There's nothing to be sorry about, Ramza. They knew that you would come one day and though you're fifteen years late, your being here is a testament to your selflessness."

"You flatter me." Ramza rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment.

"I only speak what's true." Cloud then hopped off the boulder and yawned. "Now I bid you good-night, Ramza. Your relief approaches."

Ramza turned to see that, indeed, Raizen was coming. As with the previous nights, the group always set up the watch with him taking the first turn, Raizen the middle watch, and Delita the last. He then turned back to give his thanks to Cloud, but stopped himself when he saw that the SOLDIER was missing. He looked around and soon spotted Cloud stretched out along the others near the fire.

When Raizen finally arrived to relieve him, he gave a small nod to the prince before following Cloud's example, joining the others around the fire, adding more wood to the dying flames before he found his bed and stretched out. For the first time ever since entering Ivalice, he felt calmed. Since he had arrived, he could not think of anything else but the impending reunion with his lost friends and how they would respond with his return. But Cloud's words soothed the turmoil in his heart and he was truly eager now to see them. He did not linger on that thought for long as he drifted down into welcome sleep, the stars seeming to glow brighter above.

They left Grog Hill early the next day. It was a high, clear day, the sun burning bright out of a steely sky. Crows rode the air currents above, and a lonely steel hawk. They passed the rest of the hill's fields, soon leaving Grog Hill and Lesalia behind and entering Fovoham territory.

The road stretched before them, a vast path of dirt and gravel extending towards the western horizon like a river snaking its way through the plains as far as the eye could see, disappearing just beyond a small grove of spruce trees.

_Somewhere beyond those plains, beyond those hills_, Ramza thought, _are my friends. _He then looked at Delita and Raizen and wondered what the others would make of them, wondered if they would blame Delita for the current events happening in Ivalice.

He raised his eyes to a sky that offered him no answers and followed Cloud down the road that, unknown to him or his companions, Agrias Oaks had taken to rebuild Fort Zeakden.

* * *

"We're almost there."

Cloud indicated the skeletal remains of a ruined village they just recently entered. The stone buildings were bleach white, windows shutterless and doors gaping, giving the impression of huge skulls.

It's been three and a half days since they left Lesalia to enter Fovoham, traveling through two cities and a forest to arrive later at a destroyed village in the midst of a forest that was a precursor to the mountains that surrounded them.

"We'll rest here a moment," Cloud announced as he sat down on the remnants of a low stonewall surrounding one of the houses, "before I take you deeper into the woods."

Ramza was about to protest saying that they should move on, his eagerness getting the better of him. He did not voice it out, however, seeing that the SOLDIER was right in suggesting to rest. There were some in their party that were not accustomed to long travels especially when they left their chocobos behind at Zarghidas with the exception of his own Boco, Delita's Crest, and Raizen's Valor.

He gave a nod, dismounting Boco, helping his sister down after. Delita and his son followed suit, tethering their mounts to a wooden pole, allowing them to forage for a while. They joined the others gathered around what was once the village well.

Aeris and her mother—Elmyra she was called—looked grateful for the brief stop as they sat besides Cloud who offered them water and a little something to eat.

"How close are we to the others, Cloud?" Ramza asked, unknowingly voicing the question on everyone's mind. He then studied his surroundings, seeing ravens perched on roofs of the houses, reminding him of vultures picking dead bones in the desert. "And where are we?" he added as an afterthought.

"We're in Malak and Rafa's home village," replied the SOLDIER, "the one that was destroyed during the Fifty Year War. They've rebuilt their village, but deeper into the woods, close to the mountains. That's where I'm taking you."

"Have you seen it?" questioned Ramza and when Cloud shook his head, asked, "Then how would you know about it?"

"I've been keeping in touch," Cloud explained. "Surprisingly, someone of the village was well-versed in the animal tongue and asked a bird to find me and give me a letter saying that the others were safe and in hiding. That bird managed to find me in Zarghidas and deliver the message. Ever since, I've been able to keep in contact with them, using the bird as the medium."

"An effective way of communication, I must admit," commented Delita, rubbing his beard thoughtfully.

"Indeed," agreed Ramza.

Soon after their little conversation, Aeris informed Cloud that she and her mother were well-rested and ready to go on. As Ramza was about to mount Boco, he was stopped by his sister.

"We should let Elmyra and Aeris ride the chocobo," she suggested, gesturing towards the two women standing behind Cloud. "They need Boco more than we do."

Ramza looked to where the two women stood next to Cloud, noticing their weary countenance despite their short rest, especially Elmyra who was clearly exhausted just by the way she leaned on her daughter. Feeling sympathy for them, he led his chocobo by the reins towards the two women and offered them to ride Boco. Both smiled their acceptance, glad for the respite from walking. Cloud nodded his thanks to Ramza before helping Elmyra then Aeris mount the great bird.

When both were settled and the rest prepared, Cloud began to lead the group along a trail just beyond the ruined village's boundary, which wound its way into the bountiful forest, reminding Ramza and his Ordallian friends of those forests in the neighboring country. The trail was wide enough to accommodate three in a row, but there were times that they would travel in single line where the trail narrowed. The path twisted through trees alive with birdsong and streams filled with tiny fish darting between the rocks.

Having never been this close to nature, the two women from Zarghidas could not help but be fascinated by their surroundings, Aeris marveling at a squirrel as it crossed their path carrying an acorn in its mouth where as her mother gasped in surprise at the sound of rustling branches when a bird took flight from tree to tree. She nearly fell off her seat, but Cloud quickly steadied her as Ramza calmed his chocobo who was startled by the sudden movement. Despite that small mishap, the two women took joy in their little ride, pointing and talking in lively tones when something caught their interest. Even Cloud joined in their conversations, picking a blossom from a passing bush at one moment to give to Aeris, who smiled as she accepted it.

Then Ramza saw something that he hadn't seen in Cloud before: a genuine smile. To Ramza, Cloud had always been a battle-hardened SOLDIER, always obeying orders without question, unhesitant when killing his foes. Rarely did he smile and when he did, it always seemed strained, as if smiling was a hard thing for him to do. But now, it came naturally so that it seemed it wasn't Cloud at all but another person.

Ramza smiled softly to himself at this small change in his friend. At least his absence produced one positive effect even though there were perhaps one hundred negative effects to outweigh that one. That thought saddened him somewhat, but he hoped that in the end, the good will outweigh the bad, that everything will turn out right.

* * *

The group did not see the figure that had watched them from the branches of a nearby tree, nor did they mark it as unusual when it jumped from one branch to another, the leaves rustling in sign of its passing. It continued to keep watch, taking note of their path, observing that they follow the trail. Certain that they would not stray from the path, it returned to its companion who waited in a clearing a few yards ahead of the approaching group.

A young man clad in buckskins, his fair hair tied in long braids, sat against a tree, rubbing the head of a dragon sleeping at his side. He then looked up when someone jumped down from the branches of a neighboring tree.

It was a youth of about thirteen, dressed in breeches and shirt, his russet hair wild, sticking up in odd directions. His weapon of choice, the crossbow, hung on his belt, but he rarely used it, preferring to utilize his magical skills, which was quite strong for a boy his age. He had his mother to thank for that.

He frowned at that thought. His mother seemed to have been losing her mind ever since a message arrived at the village stating that visitors would be coming soon, and if the group he had just seen were those visitors…

"Any sign of them yet, Randall?"

At that question, the youth's mind quickly returned to the present. "They're a few yards away and should be passing through here in a moment," he replied to the young man, who was now leaning against his spear, the dragon sitting on its haunches besides him, oddly reminding Randall of a loyal dog who would not leave his master's side. But that's who this young man was.

Draco Kadmus, Dragon Knight, master lancer and of dragons. The blood of a Dragoner and a Temple Knight ran through his veins, though it seemed he inherited more of the Dragoner side than the knight much to the disappointment of his father.

Draco nodded, satisfied with Randall's answer. "Then let's try to look presentable before our guests arrive," he suggested, tossing a comb of fishbone to Randall, adding, "We'll start with that hair of yours. It needs a grooming."

The boy scowled, but did not object as he began to run the comb through his hair that refused to stay down no matter how hard he tried. Even Draco tried a hand in taming his wild hair, but after a few failed attempts, gave up. Just as well, for at that moment, their guests arrived.

Draco studied them as they gathered at the entrance to the clearing, counting twelve in all, which was the number of visitors that was written in the message. He then looked at Randall for verification, who nodded in answer.

Draco turned towards them and smiled, touching his hand to his chest and extending it palm outward in greeting. "Welcome," he hailed. "We've been expecting you. I am Draco Kadmus and this," he gestured towards the boy next to him, "is Randall Rashere, your guides to the village."

"Kadmus? Rashere?" one of the visitors gasped, staring at the two men, his eyes wide with shock. "As in Beowulf Kadmus and Rad Rashere?"

Draco and Randall looked at each other, certain now that these were the strangers expected at the village. Who else could know the names of their fathers? Randall then looked at the stranger and replied, "Yes, they're our fathers, respectively."

"Who are expecting you at the village," Draco added, "along with their friends. Now come," he indicated that they follow them down the trail. "We don't want to keep them waiting."

He motioned for Randall to lead the way then called to his missing dragon, "Punyalis!" who had disappeared as they were combing Randall's hair. A moment later, it emerged from the brush, much to the surprise of their visitors, bounding towards Draco, who patted its crested head before sending it to follow Randall.

"Your mother is Reis, yes?"

Draco looked again to the man that had earlier exclaimed his father's name. "Yes," he answered, and when the man opened his mouth to speak again, interrupted saying, "All shall be revealed once we reach the village. Please hold your questions until then. Now if you will," he turned and began walking away, "we've lingered here long enough. Randall and Punyalis must be already near the village."

Having no other choice, the rest followed as Ramza wondered what other revelations awaited him at this village.

* * *

Draco had heard stories from his parents of how people beyond the forests and mountains lived in walled cities made of stone and timber, most never roaming as if they were afraid of the open country. He could not comprehend that way of living, to not feel the fresh breeze on your face or to enjoy the blue skies in a clear day. Having been raised in Tenaktwa, he did not understand any of the strange customs of the outside world whereas the rest of the village, save for those born and raised in the valley, knew.

He was glad to have been raised in the valley and as he led the visitors down the valley's entrance, he smiled as the lodges of his home spread before them. He glanced back to observe the expressions of the newcomers.

They looked amazed, as if they stared at some great marvel beyond their comprehension. It was surely a marvelous sight, the lodges spread numerous over the grass. "So, what do you think of Tenaktwa?" he asked them.

"By God, it's a city of tents!" one of the group—a dark-skinned man—exclaimed in answer. "Like a camping ground of some sort, except that I've never seen so many campers."

"It's not your walled city or town," Draco nodded, "but it's home. Randall," he called to the boy who had been waiting impatiently at the valley's entrance along with the dragon, Punyalis, for them to arrive, "notify the village of our coming."

The boy nodded, taking out a bugle of bull demon horn from his pouch. He stood on a boulder and blew, a clear shrill note echoing through the valley.

As they came down the valley's ingress, Ramza saw that the people halted their tasks in answer to the horn's call, running across the grass, so that when they finally reached the floor of the valley and halted amongst the tents, they were greeted by the whole of the village.

"Are they always like this with visitors?"

Draco shook his head in answer to Ramza's question. "Not with visitors, no. But friends of Chief Malak are always welcomed."

"Malak is chief?" Ramza grinned at the thought, amazed to know that his friend possessed the strength to guide this village to prosperity.

Draco began to say, "Yes," but then the crowd suddenly fell silent and parted as a party of five arrived and made their way to greet the visitors.

Ramza studied the group closely as they approached, knowing for who they were, marveling at how much they had change in twenty years much like himself.

He recognized Reis first, who still looked as lovely as the day he first saw her at Nelveska Temple, when the spell that bound her into a dragon's body was broken. Her hair shone softly in the setting sun's light as she glanced at the visitors, her gray eyes finally falling upon him, her lips spreading into a soft smile. She then turned to the man besides her and spoke to him.

Ramza knew it to be Beowulf by the fact that his green eyes swooped lovingly on his wife. The years have finally caught up with the former Temple Knight with silver in the gold of his hair and lines on his cheeks and about his eyes that fell upon him, thoughtful.

Then there was Mustadio, who Ramza nearly had mistaken for Besrodio except for the fact that this man didn't limp. He was almost a replica of the older mechanic with his long, thin mustache and harsh face, but when he smiled, Ramza knew that it was indeed the Engineer. Mustadio had always been cheerful despite the rough times and it seemed that this was no different.

A beautiful woman walked next to him, her raven hair swaying loosely about slender shoulders, softly caressing unblemished cheeks, her dark, doe eyes scanning the group until, like the others, it fell upon the man that stepped forward as her brother greeted:

"Ramza."

Malak Galthana looked to be the strong leader Draco had claimed; the red panther fur about his broad shoulders a symbol of his authority. He stood tall, seeming to tower over the people despite his short stature, leaning on a staff made of steel. His figure was imposing, his chest broad, his face looked to be carved from the surrounding mountains where sun and wind shaped it. His hair had grown long, tied into a couple of plaits decorated with bright feathers and brooches that glinted in the setting sun's rays. His dark eyes studied Ramza, like a cuar, and Ramza wondered if the fur he wore had given him some sort of power to see what man could not, feeling like a trapped rabbit under that intense gaze, so that he answered tentatively:

"Malak, it's good to see you. It seems that you've been doing well these past twenty years," he looked at the others behind the chief, "all of you."

Malak's features suddenly softened as he smiled broadly. "Ramza, it is good to see you again my friend!" he greeted again, this time cheerfully, as he and the others gathered around the flaxen-haired man, overwhelming him with cries of welcome.

The villagers joined in their joy as they gathered round the visitors once more in a great milling throng that threatened to overwhelm them with offers of hospitality and acceptance into the village—though that was unnecessary for already fires were lit in preparation of the celebratory feast that would commemorate their arrival.

"Orlandu wishes to see you and your sister," Malak told Ramza when they were alone. He then looked to where the others were still gathered among the villagers. "Cloud, Delita, and the Prince as well."

"Orlandu…" Ramza repeated softly. "I had thought…" His eyes hooded with worry as he shook his head.

"The old man is still alive and obstinate as ever!" Malak grinned. "Why, it was only a few days ago that he went hunting with the other warriors of my village despite his old age! He insisted on going saying that he needed to keep his skills sharp. When they returned, however, he was wounded, suffering a huge gash on his leg, but he was smiling nonetheless of his kill: a cuar! Fierce beasts those cuars."

"Is that why he hasn't come to greet us personally?" Ramza inquired, chuckling softly at the story. That sounded just like Orlandu. "Because of his wound?"

Malak nodded and Ramza smiled. "Then we shouldn't keep him waiting!"

The Chief nodded once more and turned, calling to the others.

The villagers continued to entertain their other guests as Rafa led her friends to where Malak and Ramza waited. "Come," the Chief beckoned them with a wave of his rod. "I promised Orlandu that I would bring you to him once you arrived. He wishes to speak with all of you."

All nodded, understanding the importance of this meeting. For the first time in twenty years, they were finally gathered together, the 'army' that had gone against the ambitions of the Church to be later branded heretics and be forced into hiding. The people of Ivalice would refuse to believe that they had actually saved them, not only from the Church, but also from a greater evil called Lucavi. Now it was time to save the people once again from the Church that had realized their dream of ruling Ivalice these past fifteen years.

Ramza realized then that there was more to this reunion than it seemed. More so when there came a shout: "There he is, Alicia! Ramza Beoulve! The one who abandoned us!"

He turned to see two familiar faces, and yet, not familiar as he soon found out. Two women knights that he had met in Orbonne Monastery that he found to be pleasant company though strict in their duty, now seemed to be filled with bitterness and a contained sadness—as if they had suffered more than degradation and perhaps it was this that embittered them.

The one he had known as Alicia looked to be a shadow of her former self, her auburn hair long, tied into a thick tail that swayed in a wind that suddenly blew from the mountains. She stood rigid, a sheathed sword held in her hand as she stared blankly at the group.

But the other stared at Ramza with such…

He was not sure; _anger_ was the word that came to mind, or even _hatred_. He smiled tentatively and saw the other's lips thin furiously, the gray eyes smolder.

Lavian appeared to have changed little during the past years, save for her demeanor, which has become unfriendly. She was dressed in trousers and tunic, and her brunette hair swung loose about her vexed face, backdrop to the anger there.

"Lavian, what is the meaning of this?" Malak demanded, moving to stand in front of Ramza. "Are you not glad that he has returned to us, has returned with the King who is the rightful ruler of Ivalice? Perhaps now we stand a chance against the Church. Do you not see that? We can help return peace to this country now that we are all gathered."

Lavian spat. "All gathered?" she sneered, her eyes flashing dangerously. "You forget that Meliadoul is dead and Lady Agrias is imprisoned and it's all _his_ fault!" She stabbed a dark finger at Ramza's chest. "Alicia," she turned to her companion, "that's the man who's responsible for all of our suffering! That's the man you have to kill!"

"Lavian!" Malak gasped, holding his rod in a defensive position while the others drew their weapons. "How could you?" If Alicia were to attack, it would take all of their might to stop her murderous rage.

Randall knew this and so pleaded with Lavian, saying, "Mother, please! Don't do this!"

"Stay out of this, boy!" his mother returned harshly, not taking her eyes from Ramza's face. "Or you'll end up just like your father!"

"Rad! What have you done to him?" inquired Beowulf, his sword held at the ready.

"I'm fine."

A man appeared dressed in leathers like most of the villagers, wincing as he rubbed his head of short brown hair. "That was some blow…" he muttered, still rubbing his sore head where Lavian had struck him from behind with a metal pot.

"Father, you're all right!" Randall exclaimed relieved as he rushed to his side.

"Yes, I am," Rad nodded, "but I don't know about your mother." He looked towards Ramza and said, "It's good to see you again, leader," smiling. "Perhaps you can calm my wife with that charisma of yours. I was always drawn to her gentleness and I very much miss that quality in her."

"I'll try," Ramza replied comfortingly to his friend, but he doubted that he could calm the enraged woman. She had twenty years to fester this hate and it seemed it had reached its boiling point. He stepped forward to confront the knight, but Delita grabbed his arm, halting him.

"Be careful," he warned. "I ran into a similar situation in Zeltennia that would have ended in bloodshed if it were not for Raizen's timely intervention. This woman is ready to kill you. Also, if you haven't noticed, Alicia has the look of a berserker. If she attacks, we're in trouble."

Ramza nodded, taking heed to his friend's words. It explained much on why Lavian was ordering Alicia to attack and why the others had drawn their weapons. The situation would get worse if he didn't put a stop to all this madness.

He walked forward slowly as not to provoke the two women. "I know it's too late for apologies," he began as he stood in their midst, Malak and the others on one side and the two women on the other. "And I know it's too late to change certain events that could have saved you much suffering. Yes, I have left you, I do not deny that, but I left believing that you will all be safe if I simply disappeared." He then shook his head and sighed. "It seems that I have thought wrong." He then looked at each of their faces, his eyes burning bright as in the days he had led them through countless battles. "This is why I have returned. To undo all the wrongs the Church have committed against the people of this country, to ease all of your suffering, to deliver peace to all in this time of turmoil, and though no one would thank me for it, I do it because it is the right thing to do. _We_ do it because it is the right thing to do. This is what Meliadoul would have wanted," he gazed at Malak, Beowulf, Reis, Mustadio, "this is what Ovelia would have wanted," then at Delita and Raizen, "and yes, even Agrias." He looked at Lavian and Alicia.

Ramza paused for a moment to let his words sink into his friends' minds and hearts before continuing: "Killing me would not solve anything save perhaps your need for revenge. What would you do once you've killed me, Lavian? My death would not bring back Meliadoul nor would it help free Agrias. But if we work together, we could save Agrias and help the people of Ivalice. Isn't that what you swore to do when you picked up your sword? To protect and serve the people?"

"That is our sworn duty," Rad agreed, looking at Lavian who seemed less confident now. "We swore an oath to protect the people from all forms of evil. This is our responsibility as knights or have you forgotten?"

"I…" began Lavian in a soft voice, then shook her head furiously, shouting, "No! You weave clever words, deserter, but I will not be fooled. Meliadoul trusted you. Lady Agrias trusted you. I trusted you. But look what happened! I will not fall for your promises again! Alicia, kill him!"

Ramza sighed as he drew his sword, disappointed that his words did not calm the woman down, only adding fuel to her hatred. Lavian was determined to have him killed. Perhaps this would end in bloodshed.

But the unexpected happened.

Alicia placed a hand on the hilt of her sword, but did not draw, as if considering the action.

_Promise me that whatever happens from now on, you will not blame Ramza for it, but follow him as we had during the war._

Words from a past left behind echoed in her mind, searing her heart like a brand, and her hand withdrew. "No," she said, her voice coarse, rusty as an unused blade.

Ever since their return from Lesalia after the successful rescue of Meliadoul's friends, Alicia had not spoken a word. Hearing her voice again startled the others even Lavian, who stared at Alicia, her eyes wide with surprise.

"No break vow," Alicia said haltingly, reminding Ramza of how Worker 8 spoke. He saw a spark in her eyes, like a tiny flame flickering to life, and wondered if the old Alicia was returning.

"Vow?" Lavian asked incredulously, recovering quickly from the shock. "What vow?" she demanded, almost in hysterics.

"Gave word to follow Ramza," the redhead explained in her stumbling voice. "Promised Lady Agrias."

Lavian growled in frustration. "That vow doesn't matter now! Lady Agrias is in prison and it's all because of Ramza! Don't you see that?"

"No break vow," repeated the redhead sternly.

"Fine!" Lavian whispered sharply as she drew her own sword. "I'll kill him myself!" With a feral cry, she charged at Ramza, who stood ready, motioning to the others not to interfere.

_Promise me that whatever happens from now on, you will not blame Ramza for it, but follow him as we had during the war._

Lavian faltered, but she continued to run, wondering why her vision had suddenly become blurry.

_I'll have your word, Lavian._

She growled as she angrily wiped away the tears that came unbidden, still blindly charging.

_You have my word, Lady Agrias._

She suddenly dropped her sword as she fell to her knees, weeping openly. "Why?" she sobbed softly. "Why did this have to happen? It's not supposed to be this way."

Ramza slowly walked up to her, his sword sheathed, and knelt by her quivering frame. "Lavian," he called to her gently, placing a hand on her shoulder, "everything will be all right. Believe in that, I pray you." He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before standing up as Rad and Randall approached. "Take good care of her," he told them.

"I will," Rad nodded. "I always did. Besides Randall, she is all I have left. Thank you, Ramza. You are truly a great man."

Ramza watched as his friend lifted Lavian to her feet and led her away, a comforting arm about her shoulders. Randall walked next to them, looking as worried as his father, and as equally relieved now that his mother was calmed. Ramza then looked to where Alicia stood aloof and smiled. "Thank you, Alicia. If it weren't for your words, Lavian would have gone through with her threat."

Alicia merely nodded, seeming to have reverted to her taciturn self, before walking away to follow Rad and his family.

Ramza took a deep breath and sighed, looking up at the sky, watching as a flock of birds flew back to their nests as the sun sank to the west. For an instant, he remembered the time he had bid his friends farewell and left with his sister to a destination unknown. It was a day as beautiful as this, he and his sister riding into the sunset. He had felt afraid and at the same time excited. He found it ironic to be reunited with his friends on a day similar to the day he had left them.

"Ramza?"

He turned at the call of his name and saw that the others waited on him expectantly, just as they had when going into battle. He smiled and said, "I think we've kept Orlandu waiting long enough."

* * *

Orlandu lay impatiently in the warmth of his lodge as two women tended to the gash on his leg. "Ladies, ladies!" he protested. "I'm fine! Really! It's nothing but a scratch!" They ignored him, however, applying womanly wisdom to damage and protests alike. The wound _would _be dressed and he had no choice but to comply, even when he heard the shouting and attempted to rise.

"Easy, easy." The one he vaguely remembered called Lynn set a hand against his chest and pushed him gently back. "Your leg has not properly healed yet for you to be out and about. Chief Malak promised to bring the visitors to you. Let them come to you, all right?"

"I'm…" Orlandu began to say, and then shrugged, sinking back. Might as well argue as tackle a behemoth head-on.

Even so, it was difficult to lie supine and impatient as all around the village exploded tumultuous. But wait he must until Lynn was satisfied and declared that the wound was well bandaged. The other woman, Flor, added her consent.

Besrodio, who had watched all that transpired, laughed at Orlandu's flushed features when the two women finally left. "Really, Orlandu!" he chortled, his gray mustache quivering in amusement. "I thought you would be delighted to be tended by two women, especially if they're as beautiful as Flor and Lynn."

"Perhaps _you_ would be delighted, Besrodio," Orlandu retorted, rising slowly with the help of a cane Mustadio had crafted for him. "But all this attention serves only to annoy me."

"They're just worried about you," the old mechanic replied. "A man of your age normally does not go hunting; a man of _my_ age normally does not go hunting. I know you were a master swordsman before, but that was years ago when you were still strong and—"

"You needn't remind me," Orlandu interjected curtly and Besrodio immediately became silent, knowing he had found the crux of the old man's frustration.

"I'm sorry, Orlandu," Besrodio apologized. "Forgive me. I shouldn't have—"

"No," Orlandu shook his head and sighed. "You're right. I am old and I'm surprised that I have lived this long." He then laughed softly in spite of himself. "Maybe the reason I have lived this long is that I'm still needed in this world, or more importantly, my sword." He sighed again and Besrodio saw the weariness in his eyes, noting that he looked suddenly very ancient, his features haggard. "To tell you the truth, I'm tired of fighting. I've fought in too many battles, killed too many people… Sometimes I wonder if that is what I'll be remembered for when I depart this life, as 'Thunder God Cid' instead of Cidolfas Orlandu."

"You _are_ Cidolfas Orlandu," Besrodio stated firmly, "and you will _always_ be Cidolfas Orlandu, or more affectionately known as 'Landu among the children of this village. They'll remember you as a caring and funny old man. The others will remember you as a man who fought to bring peace to this country. They'll honor you as that man, Orlandu, the man who fought for peace."

"Peace…" Orlandu looked at Besrodio and asked, "Can there be such a thing?"

Besrodio nodded. "I believe so and I'm sure the others believe this as well." He stared at the old man peculiarly as he asked, "Why such doubt?"

"Perhaps because I've fought in wars that were to bring peace, but only caused more bloodshed," Orlandu murmured darkly. "And now I sense another war is about to begin. Will this war lead to another war or will Ivalice finally see peace in its days?"

"I cannot answer that question for you, my friend," Besrodio looked apologetically at Orlandu as he shrugged.

"I never asked if you could, but thank you for listening." Orlandu then began to slowly make his way to the lodgeflap. "Enough of this prattle. It's best we save this discussion for another day, lest it dampens the festive air tonight."

Besrodio entirely agreed and both soon emerged from the lodge to find Mustadio and Rafa outside, Beowulf and Reis there. Orlandu wondered where the others could be.

"As I told you, obstinate as ever!"

That remark came from Malak who was escorting their visitors across the grass to the lodge along with Draco. Orlandu smiled then when he saw them and shouted in greeting: "It's good to see you again, my friends!"

"And to you as well, Orlandu!"

One of the visitors—a flaxen-haired man—grinned as he halted, staring at Orlandu with a mixture of relief and happiness. "It is as Malak says, you are obstinate as ever, walking around on that injured leg of yours. Still full of that knight's pride, I see!"

Orlandu had no doubt that the man he spoke to was their missing leader, Ramza Beoulve. He said, quickly lest any other—especially Malak with his quick tongue—answer on his behalf, "And you, Ramza, are as sharp as a dull sword!"

Ramza laughed then as he clasped hands with Orlandu, surprised to find the old knight's grip firm. It seemed age did nothing to weaken his spirit. "It's been twenty years and you're still the same!"

"Is it better if I have changed?" Orlandu asked.

"No." Ramza shook his head, then studied the old man and the others in turn. "Though time has changed us physically, our spirits will forever remain the same."

"Ach!" Orlandu made a dismissive fist. "Leave the pretty speech for the battlefield. Only celebrate for tonight we welcome the return of our leader!"

Another of the visitors frowned at the declaration, his brows furrowing in disapproval. "How could you celebrate at a time like this?" he questioned darkly.

"I am aware of the situation, your majesty." Orlandu turned to regard the man, studying him as if appraising a likely sword. "But it's best we save such matters for the morrow. All of you must be tired from your journey. Rest, eat, drink, and enjoy the hospitality of these people. Tonight is a night of celebration. Let's not spoil it with talk of battles and politics."

Delita's frown grew deeper, silently opposing the suggestion.

Raizen grabbed his shoulder and said, "Father, patience. We are not long come to Ivalice. Let's do as the old man," Orlandu slightly winced at those words, "says and rest, settle down. Then we can think of strategies to win back our people."

"Your son shows wisdom," remarked Orlandu as he stared at the young man thoughtfully, "a trait, no doubt, from his mother."

Delita grunted, giving a sidelong glance at Raizen. "Sometimes I wonder if she haunts me through him." He then looked at Orlandu and said, "It sits ill with me to wait. It seems the more we delay, the more suffering my people must endure."

"Wait," Orlandu urged. "All of us like none of this any better than you, but we are few yet. It's better we seek allies before declaring war against the Church."

Delita sighed, grudgingly agreeing with the old knight. "Very well," he muttered.

Orlandu nodded his approval. "Good. The first step into being a wise ruler is to know your strengths and weaknesses."

"And the first step into being a good leader is to know when to rest and relax," Ramza added cheerfully. "So, let us eat and drink to good company and to good fortune!"

"Is that an order, Ramza?" Beowulf asked mischievously.

Ramza caught the jest and grinned, answering, "Yes, Beowulf." He then looked at the group as a whole, his expression feigning seriousness, his eyes twinkling teasingly. "That is my first order," he continued in a somewhat solemn, yet impish tone. "See that you carry it out to the best of your abilities!"

* * *

Ramza and the others had no trouble joining in the festivities as they sat and mingled with the villagers, eating slabs of various meats including chocobo and panther, and drinking a special brew called paqwan. Mustadio had grown a liking for the drink, as Ramza observed, the Engineer gulping mouthfuls from the flask as Besrodio looked on disapprovingly while Rafa tried to take the flask away from him, reprimanding him in the process.

Across the huge bonfire, Alma sat with Aeris' mother and a few of the women villagers, talking animatedly among themselves and Ramza laughed when he saw Reis dragging Beowulf near the fire where other villagers danced to the beating drums and whistling pipes, forcing him to join in their dance.

Cloud looked quite at home as he sat next to Aeris, gesturing towards the lodges and the stars above. Then Aeris pointed towards the dancing villagers and Ramza assumed that she was asking if they could join them. The SOLDIER seemed hesitant, but nodded, and they soon joined Beowulf and Reis, who began teaching them the steps to this particular dance.

Ramza then looked for Rad or Lavian, hoping they would be joining them in their party despite the little mishap, but was disappointed when he saw no sign of them. Nor did he see Alicia among the people and wondered if they decided to stay away lest another incident occurred.

Randall's presence, however, compensated for their absence, seeing the boy scurrying about the camp as Draco chased after him, shouting something about a letter. Ramza gazed thoughtfully at the boy as he waved a piece of parchment in the air mockingly, sending Draco to another fit of frustration.

Ramza knew that Rad had fancied one of the women knights when they first met them at Orbonne, but he never thought that he was brave enough to act on those feelings, being that he was but a lowly squire at the time. Who would have thought that they would end up together? But it was true, Randall the living proof of that truth, and he could not help but smile at that.

Save for Delita, everyone seemed content, Orlandu talking with the children, Malak smiling as he overlooked the celebration, even Raizen showed to be enjoying himself as he helped Draco catch Randall. If this one night of merriment brought joy to all his friends, he was content as well.

And did any think of the strategic council, they set the thought aside: plans would be made, and were allies to be found surely they would side with Delita and Raizen. But that was for the morrow: this night was for celebration.

But little did Ramza know that out in the east, a more somber reunion was about to take place…

* * *

Bethla Garrison.

Called the impregnable fortress surrounded by steep cliffs on three sides and used as a front-line base during the Fifty Year War. It had also been used as the base for the Nanten during the Lion War where Prince Goltana would hold many war councils with various advisors. It was here that he commanded the Nanten and it was here that he died, betrayed by one of his own. The walls that protected him from the enemy without could not protect him from the enemy within.

The fort seemed to merge with the cliffs, appearing less like a man-made edifice than some natural protrusion of walls from the living rock, each having a special purpose in their design. The southern wall served as the gate into the fortress, a sentry stationed at the office there, whereas the northern wall led to where food and weapons were stored for those stationed at the garrison.

It is said that the fortress will never fall as long as those that defended it stood as strong as the walls that surrounded it. And so it remained today, a hulking bastion, a symbol of Ivalice's strength, housing a garrison of some five-hundred soldiers.

Bethla Garrison was not only known as a fort, but a prison as well, confining notable captives such as the former queen, Ruvelia, and former commander of the Nanten Knights, Count Orlandu.

Escape was nigh impossible. Even if one pass the numerous guards patrolling the corridors and walls, they would need to climb down the treacherous cliffs, which proved disastrous to many who tried, falling to their deaths seven thousand dorma below.

Ramia and Galvin had visited the fortress several times, unaware that deep within its bowels was a prison, a dungeon where none of the prisoners could see the light of day, where most have lost their sanity in its darkest corners.

Ramia felt stifled as she and Galvin followed the warden down the narrow corridor. The walls were rugged, having been cut from the cliffs themselves, the stairs no less uneven. It seemed that they've been walking down forever, the darkness endless until they saw a faint glimmer of light at the bottom of the stairs.

Here there were few torches on the walls, all three blinking at the sudden light as they waited for their eyes to adjust. The warden then shouted for the jailer, who came to meet them. He wore a black hood over his head, in the style of an executioner, and was a grim and ghostly figure in the shadows, disturbingly reminding Ramia of Death himself.

"The heretic," the warden said.

The jailer nodded and led them to a cell that was nothing more than a barred door set into a rock wall. He pointed silently inside.

Ramia peered in and saw a figure crouched on the floor of the cell hidden in shadow because of lack of light. She turned to the jailer, commanding him to open the door.

The jailer seemed uncertain, looking to the warden, who nodded in answer. "Do you need anything, Lady Ramia?" the warden asked as the jailer unlocked the door and swung it open. "Ink and parchment perhaps for the prisoner? She doesn't speak, you know."

Before Ramia could reply, Galvin spoke: "Why not?" It was an innocent question, but Ramia wished that he had not asked it, a painful reminder of the other 'punishment' Jaren had placed upon Agrias.

She closed her eyes in reflective thought as the warden answered, "Her tongue was cut as a precaution. She's a heretic, after all. We can't have her blabbering lies about now, can't we?"

Ramia found the warden's tone offensive. Her eyes snapped open and she glared at the man from the corner of her eye. "You're dismissed, warden," she said in a rigid voice. "Galvin, escort him back upstairs. Keep him company while I tend to things here."

Galvin nodded and waited on the warden as he gave instructions to the jailer to assist Ramia if she needed anything. When they finally left, Ramia entered the cell; the jailer closing the door behind, shutting out most of the light, making it difficult for Ramia to see the figure crouched in the darkness. She turned to the door and shouted, "Lantern, now!"

The jailer nodded silently and left only to return moments later with a lit lamp, opening and closing the cell door as he handed it to Ramia. The light was still dim, but it was enough to illuminate the whole of the cell.

She found her mother sitting on the floor, huddled at the corner, and as she approached, her mother flinched as if she was afraid of the light. Ramia placed the lamp down, away from her as not to frighten her, and moved slowly towards her, unsure of how the woman would react. When she finally reached her, she knelt down, looking intently at her, searching for any signs of the mother she once knew.

But what she saw pained her.

This person did not look like the Holy Knight that had fought in many battles, who had used her sword to protect others. The golden hair that had at one time shone gloriously now lacked that luster, hanging in scraggly strands about a much thinned face, the once proud features gone, all jutting bones and sharp angles. Eyes that used to mirror the sky on a clear day were now dulled, no longer sparking with life, but with despair. Even when Ramia called to her, those eyes remained empty, staring at nothing in particular.

But something stirred deep within Agrias' mind, the voice a faint light in her darkness…

_Who was it that called her?_

"Mother…" Ramia called softly again, determined to reach her.

_Mother? Yes, she once was a mother so long ago…_

"Mother? Mama?"

_Mama…_

Suddenly the light flared, becoming brighter, beckoning her to reach for it and once she did, a memory came to her. Someone was calling for her, crying for her…

A child.

_Her _child.

Ramia saw her mother's eyes slightly flicker in recognition and called out to her again, "Mama."

_A daughter she left behind, a daughter forced to be separated from her, a daughter named…_

"Mama, it's me, Ramia…"

_…Ramia._

Ramia watched in earnest as those eyes suddenly focused on her, seeming to look at her for the first time. "Mama, I'm here…" She reached out to grab her hand gently, saddened to see that, like her face, it was thin and frail, incapable of holding a sword or of lifting a shield.

Agrias looked down at the gloved hand and began to remove the leather glove that covered Ramia's hand. When she was done, she studied her daughter's hand, feeling how rough her skin was, knowing it to be the result from years of wielding a blade. She was pleased to see that her daughter had taken the way of the sword, as she had hoped. She then looked up, her frail hands reaching out to touch her face, staring into her hazel eyes—so much like her father's!—reassuring herself that she was indeed real and not some phantom come to taunt her. Then, for the first time in fifteen years, she smiled as she embraced her daughter fiercely despite her weakened appearance, afraid that she would lose her again if she let go.

"Mama…" Ramia returned the hug as equally fierce, shedding silent tears, wishing for time to stop, for this moment to never end for when it did, it would mean risking losing her mother once again. She made a vow then that she would do anything in her power to liberate her from this prison even if it meant suffering on her behalf. Her grandfather had suffered the ridicule from the nobles and her mother was suffering now in this depressing prison. It would only be appropriate if she were to suffer as well.

But she could not entertain such troubling thoughts for long for she was too happy to finally be reunited with her mother.


	19. Prologue to the Legend

**Chapter Eighteen: Prologue to the Legend**

"The revolt has begun."

Andrew stared at the messenger, his expression solemn as he heard his son shift nervously behind him.

After a week's travel from the Imperial Capital, he, his son, and their wives were finally home, behind familiar walls and among familiar faces only to be greeted by a footman announcing that a messenger from Zeltennia had arrived two days prior, awaiting an audience with him. Sensing that something was amiss, Andrew had ordered that the messenger be taken to the parlor and that his son accompany him while apologizing to their wives for not attending to dinner. The three men were now gathered at the castle's parlor where the small and simple room afforded them a bit of privacy.

"By whom?" Andrew leaned forward to take up the decanter on the round wooden table in front of him to pour more wine for their guest, who gladly took the glass, muttering his thanks before drinking it.

Both father and son waited patiently as the man finished the glass before replying to Andrew's question: "A Nanten knight by the name of Reuel Montieg. It is by his order that I have come."

"Oh, is that so?" Andrew returned curiously, filling both his and his son's glasses before stoppering the decanter.

The messenger nodded. "Yes. He wishes for Limberry's support, if that is possible. He states that if you are loyal to Ivalice and its people, you would aid them."

Lord Birch passed a glass to his son, silently contemplating the messenger's words. He studied the man from the rim of his cup as he drank and saw the eagerness in his eyes, reflected in his hands that slightly trembled as he placed down his cup. There had been revolts in the past and the people who fought in those were desperate, full of despair. However, this seemed different this time around.

Why was that?

Finished with his drink, Andrew leaned forward to place his empty glass on the table and instead of sitting back, he propped his elbows upon his knees, his chin resting upon his folded hands as he stared at the messenger curiously, thoughtfully.

"Tell me," he began in a friendly tone, "why has Sir Montieg decided to start a rebellion? I've heard all the reasons before: oppression of the people, Church dictatorship—"

"But there's more to it than that, sir!" the messenger exclaimed excitedly. "Yes, there are all those other reasons as well, but the true reason is that Sir Reuel had a vision!"

"A vision?" Andrew asked inquiringly, his interest piquing. That _was_ certainly different.

"Yes!" the messenger nodded fervently, his eyes shining with excitement. "You see, ever since Queen Ovelia died and was laid to rest at the ruins of Zeltennia's Church, Sir Reuel had made visiting her grave every night a habit, saying that it was his penance for failing in his duty as a knight. Then about eight nights ago, his penance was rewarded when the spirit of the dead queen appeared to him, giving him instructions to raise up the knighthood, unite with the commoners, and drive out the Shrine Knights from the city. He followed her directions and now Zeltennia and Zarghidas are free from the Church."

Andrew sat back, rubbing his beard in thought as he absorbed the tale. "I find this hard to believe, Gabriel," he commented after a pregnant pause. "How could he have accomplished such a task without providing the people with proof of his 'vision'?"

"At first, I did not believe it myself," Gabriel agreed, "until he showed us the Holy Stone that had been a royal treasure for generations, a crystal carved with the Virgo crest. We couldn't believe our eyes. Thought to be lost at Orbonne Monastery, there it was held in Sir Reuel's hand. But there were some who doubted the stone's authenticity and those who had actually seen the stone before studied it, hoping to find it a counterfeit, condemning Sir Reuel for treason. However, after careful study of the stone, they found it true and knights and commoners alike readily answered to his call for a revolt. They stand ready now, awaiting word from you, Lord Birch."

After a moment of contemplative thought, Andrew stood up and said, "I must think on this a while and, hopefully, give an answer on the morrow. In the meantime, please make use of our castle. I apologize for delaying you further."

"Not at all, Lord Birch," Gabriel shook his head as he rose from his seat. "I'm quite taken by the city and its people. I hardly visit Limberry, you see."

"Then please, enjoy yourself while you can." Andrew smiled as he gestured towards the door. "Good night, Sir Gabriel. I shall have a servant summon you tomorrow morning."

Gabriel nodded his thanks and departed the room, leaving the two men alone. Andrew stalked to a window as his son took a seat, filling his glass with wine, studying his father who seemed to be staring out in thought. "Father," he ventured, "what will you do?"

Andrew sighed as he shook his head. "This is so sudden…" he murmured. "First it was Agnes' death then Ramia's discovery, and now this. Events are happening too quickly and I cannot help but suspect that they are somehow linked."

"Really?" Alex returned doubtfully. "How so?"

"I don't know." Andrew gazed at the heavens, hoping to find an answer written in the stars. But he was no seer or astrologer, only a mere knight in the service of his country, and he was no longer sure who he served any more.

His son clarified that for him.

"If you ask me," Alex began as he stood up and walked over to his father, wineglass still in hand, "we should aid this Sir Reuel. I think it's time we take back Ivalice. Living under the Church's shadow for fifteen years is far too long."

"Perhaps," Andrew allowed then turned to face his son. "This is not an easy decision. I think it's best we discuss this with our wives. Their advice had always been sound."

"I agree," his son nodded. He then called for a servant to summon the Ladies Celinda and Tiana to the parlor. A few moments later, they arrived, looking quite agitated.

"What is it now, Andrew?" Celinda asked admonishingly, taking a seat on the couch with a huff. "I'm tired from the journey and wish to rest." She then studied both her husband and son's faces, seeing the worry and uncertainty there. "But that seems impossible now," she added, becoming a little worried herself.

"Forgive me," Andrew bowed his head apologetically towards his wife, "but we are in need of your counsel; _both_ of your counsel," he quickly amended when his daughter-in-law silently took a seat next to his wife. They sat attentively, his son standing behind them. He then took a deep breath and repeated what Gabriel had told them about the revolt at Zeltennia, Sir Reuel's next plan, and his own suspicions on how Agnes' death and Ramia's discovery may be linked to these events.

"Alex suggests that we join them," he concluded, bringing the briefing to a close. "I…am not so sure if that is a wise decision."

"And that's why you have summoned us," Celinda surmised. "This is a difficult decision indeed."

"One needed to be made tonight," Alex added grimly. "We don't have much time."

Tiana then began to laugh as if this was all some sort of game that she just won. The others frowned at her behavior, finding it inappropriate at such a time. "The answer is so obvious!" she exclaimed with a chuckle. "Do not join them."

"Why not?" Alex demanded as he came over to glare at his wife. "Do you wish to continue living like this? Under the Church's shadow?"

Tiana's smile faded as she stared solemnly at her husband, undaunted at his outburst. "No, I do not, but now is not the time to start a rebellion. I'm sure Father Jaren will soon hear of this and when he does, he'll probably send a small army to regain Zeltennia and Zarghidas. But that is not the reason why we should not join them. The answer was obvious when your father commented on how these events may be linked to Lord Oaks' death and Ramia. If we join with the Nanten, we may be putting Ramia in danger, especially now that she knows she's the daughter of a heretic."

"I see," Andrew nodded, his eyes closed in thought as he stroked his beard. "Father Jaren may use her against us, keep her hostage, or worse."

"Exactly!" exclaimed Tiana. "As long as Ramia is still a part of our family, we can do nothing but wait for the right time. Besides, we have our own son to think about."

"You're right," Alex sighed in reluctance as he shook his head. "Galvin may be put in danger as well."

"Then are we in agreement?" Celinda inquired as she stood up from her seat. "That we do not aid this rebellion?"

Andrew nodded readily followed slowly by Alex who said, "I don't like it, but I don't like the thought of Ramia and Galvin in danger even more."

"Then it's decided," Celinda sighed in relief. "Now, shall we all find our beds?"

* * *

The morning brought a cloudy sky over Limberry, the sun doing little to warm the guards at their posts, the wind chill as it came from the north. Winter was almost upon them, the first snows coming in a few weeks time. But it seemed that winter had already arrived for Gabriel, the parlor suddenly chilling after hearing Lord Birch's decision.

"I see..." he muttered, trying to hide his disappointment.

He had awakened well before dawn, eager to learn of Andrew's decision, hoping to carry back the good news to Sir Reuel. But that was not the case.

"I'm sorry," Andrew apologized, feeling upset himself at the decision. He would gladly lend his men to aid the rebellion army, to give back to the people what was once theirs, but due to Ramia's adoption into his family, he could not risk putting her in danger. He could, at least, offer some sort of compensation for it.

"Please tell Sir Reuel that though I do not send aid, I will not retaliate against him or his army," he said. "I give you my word that you need not fear attack from behind. It is the least I could do to show my support in the rebellion."

Gabriel thought on it a moment then nodded. "Very well then, Lord Birch. I shall take word of your promise to Sir Reuel. I'm sure he'll be glad to hear it."

Andrew nodded. "I pray for your success."

"And I pray you join us soon. It will be an empty victory with no one else to share it with." With that said, Gabriel bowed and left the parlor for the stables.

Andrew stared at the double doors well after Gabriel's departure, murmuring, "An empty victory…" before turning towards the window just in time to see the messenger from Zeltennia ride out through the castle gates. He sighed, saddened at the thought, as he closed his eyes in reflection. Later, he heard someone enter the room, his eyes opening at the disturbance.

"So, how'd it go?"

"He accepted my answer," Andrew replied without turning to greet his visitor. "We can only hope for their victory."

"Is that all you will do, father?" Alex inquired as he moved towards him. "Pray? Hope? While men will be fighting and dying for the common good? We cannot sit idly by while major events are happening outside these walls."

"I know," his father replied softly. He then turned to him and asked, "But what would you have me do?" And knew that he had played right into his son's ploy when he smiled in answer, saying, "I was hoping you would ask that." Andrew stared at him questioningly.

"A reconnaissance mission," Alex explained matter-of-factly. "Though we're not sending aid, we can help the rebellion in other ways." He grinned shrewdly, adding, "Don't you agree, father?"

Andrew rubbed his bristled chin in thought then smiled, finally understanding full well what his son meant to do: basically to gather information at the capital and relay it to the rebellion army. "Agreed. So, who shall we send as a delegate to the Imperial Capital?"

"Why not you, my Lord Birch?" Alex bowed respectfully.

"Me?" He hadn't expected that answer, anticipating his son to volunteer instead.

Alex nodded. "You are the perfect choice. I would go myself, but I am just the commander of the Aegis Knights. You, on the other hand, are the recognized ruler of Limberry; therefore, your presence at the capital would take precedence over mine. It would also show that Limberry is…willing," he gave a small cough, apparently lying, "to support the Church. There's also the matter of Ramia and Galvin's safety. I would feel better if you're with them."

"They may be knights, but they're inexperienced when it comes to war and politics," Andrew agreed still rubbing his chin. "I do not wish to return to the capital so soon, but if it's the only way for this rebellion to be successful, so be it."

"Shall I make the necessary preparations, father?" his son asked, moving towards the door.

"Please," Andrew nodded and his son left. Lord Birch sighed afterwards, returning to gaze out the window. "I've just returned home and already I'm setting out for the capital once more," he murmured in thought. "So much for relaxation…"

Staring at the overcast sky, he wondered if the storms of war would be winter's way of commencing the season…

* * *

As Andrew and Alex made plans concerning the rebel army, out in the west, in a small village hidden in the mountains of Fovoham, five men were discussing strategies on how they would go about seeking allies and building an army of their own.

"It would be difficult to persuade the people to follow you after so long an absence," Orlandu stated sagely as he stared at Delita gravely.

"I am aware of that," Delita nodded, "but I have no doubt that they would side with me."

"If you can provide proof of your identity," Ramza countered. "As Kyshon had said in Zarghidas, your royal signet may not be enough."

"I remember," the monarch returned sourly, frowning as he stroked his beard.

"But you easily convinced Reuel in Zeltennia," Raizen suddenly put in encouragingly. "How is this any different?"

"Because I know Reuel personally," his father returned, "but when it comes to the other provinces…" His voice trailed off as he shook his head. "It shall be hard to persuade them, to listen to a man they never met or saw."

Everyone in the lodge grew quiet at that statement, grudgingly in agreement. Delita had not been king for long to establish friendly relations with the rest of Ivalice, especially the western region of the continent. A stumbling block he had unknowingly left behind when he had disappeared from Ivalice. But now he must overcome that small obstacle.

But how?

His son unwittingly provided the answer.

"Didn't Reuel present to you the same problem, father?" Raizen asked innocently and all turned to him questioningly, prompting him to continue. "If I remember correctly, Reuel questioned on how he could sway the people without any proof of his so-called 'vision' you gave him."

"And I gave him the Virgo stone," his father nodded then frowned in incomprehension. "I don't see how that is going to help us."

"For one who used to manipulate people to get what he desired, I don't see how you could be so narrow-minded."

Delita glared at Orlandu from across the fire that burned low in the middle of Malak's lodge. He need not be reminded of his faults for they still haunted him to this day.

Sensing the tension building, Ramza quickly intervened saying, "I sense you are on to something, old friend. What is on your mind?"

"Three words," the old knight replied, holding up three fingers. "Zodiac Brave Story."

"The legend?" Ramza inquired curiously.

"Yes," Orlandu nodded. "Think back on the Lion War twenty years ago."

Ramza crossed his arms and closed his eyes in thought, his mind recalling the memories of those days he fought against his brothers, against the Church, against Lucavi… Of all those who had perished: Wiegraf, Izlude, Simon…

_What's the real reason for collecting the stones…? And reviving the Zodiac Braves?_

_To gain the people's trust, of course._

His eyes snapped open suddenly at the memory, coming to an understanding of Orlandu's implication. "The Church planned on using the stones to gain the people's trust," he stated.

"I see." Delita stroked his beard again, his eyes closed in thought, his mind returning to those memories he would rather have locked away. He remembered the High Priest's plot, having been party to that plot.

"Father, do you have a plan?" Raizen inquired softly, seeing that he was deep in thought.

"Yes," the monarch opened his eyes, gazing at all those present. "My plan is to follow the late Funeral's plan. The people are dissatisfied with the current rule and I'm sure the knighthoods are as well. All we need do is incite them to revolt against the Church." Ramza was about to voice a question, but he halted him by raising a hand.

"Now I'm aware that there had been revolts in the past," he continued, "and that all had ended in failure, thereby everyone giving in to despair. But we now hold the key to their salvation!"

"The Zodiac stones," uttered Ramza, answering his own unasked question. "Anyone who believes in the legend would quickly rally with whoever possesses the stone."

"Yes!" Delita exclaimed excitedly. "And to stop these revolts—"

"—Jaren must order the Shrine Knights to quell these rebellions," Malak finished, finally coming to grips with the plan. "He would have a difficult time deploying knights to the four corners of Ivalice."

"They won't have enough soldiers," Orlandu noted wisely then smiled at the monarch. "I guess you're not as narrow-minded after all."

"The second step into being a wise ruler, _old man_," Delita retorted, recalling the old knight's words the night before, "is to keep an open mind."

Orlandu laughed at the quip. "You learn apace!"

"I have to," he replied solemnly, "if we are to win."

* * *

Andrew Birch had not thought to return to Bethla Garrison again so soon, as he and his escort trotted through the gates, a small welcoming party waiting for them at the flagstoned plaza beyond, mail glittering in the afternoon sunlight, the keeper of the fort standing a pace before.

He was a tall, thin man, clean-shaven and sparsely haired, the graying strands tugged severely back from an austere visage. He raised a hand in formal greeting, shouting, "Hail, Lord Andrew Birch of Limberry!"

Andrew responded, "Hail, Lord Aral Rycroft, keeper of Bethla Garrison!"

The formalities dispensed, Rycroft came respectfully to Andrew's stirrup, his face lit by a warm smile. "I am surprised to see you again so soon, my friend. It's only been five days since your family passed through here on your way home. What brings you back to this dreary place?"

Andrew climbed from his saddle and took the hand Rycroft extended, his own smile warm as he studied the man, the warmth echoed in his voice. "A mission, Rycroft, old friend. I take it you haven't heard the good news yet."

The keeper snorted. "What news is good these days?"

At which Andrew laughed hugely. "Indeed! But I assure you this is good news, the best news I've heard in the past fifteen years!"

The old keeper raised a quizzical brow. "That good, eh? I would like to hear it."

"And you shall," complied Andrew. "You have our quarters prepared?"

"And baths ready," Rycroft nodded. "How long shall you be staying?"

"Only for the night." Andrew passed the reins of his chocobo to one of Rycroft's men to have it taken to the stables. "Our mission is urgent."

"I would like to hear this mission of yours as well," Rycroft said, bellowing orders for their chocobos to be stabled and food prepared for the travelers afterwards.

"All in good time," Andrew returned patiently then looked towards the bathhouse. "I think I should have that bath first."

"Of course," Rycroft nodded. "You can find me in my quarters after. Perhaps we can share a cup or two of cider while you tell your tale."

Andrew smiled and said, "Why not?"

* * *

The bathhouse was a low-roofed structure located along the northeastern wall of the fort, adjacent to one of the wall towers. The doors stood open on a tiled entryway from which there were two exits, the place divided by sex. Andrew took the door to the left into a vestibule where he stripped out of his riding gear and accepted a towel from the waiting attendant before being ushered into a smaller room with a sunken pool just large enough to contain four bodies at its center. Only after he was clean would he continue to the steam room, where soldiers gathered to talk as the vapors rising from the pipes that lay beneath the floor completed the cleansing process and eased the stiffness and the aches imparted by the long ride from Limberry.

It was in this room that he encountered a very familiar face.

Wrapped in a towel, he entered the steam room, the place nearly empty except for one person who he could not see clearly through the haze. He gave a soft greeting to the figure to alert him of his presence before settling wearily on a bench. He pushed shoulder-length hair streaked with gray back from his face, sighing luxuriantly as his muscles relaxed, the final aches from the ride dwindling as the steam did its work.

"Refreshing, isn't it?" the person spoke from across the room.

"Yes, very soothing," Andrew agreed, "especially after a two-day ride from Limberry."

"Limberry…" the figure repeated wistfully. "It's been seven years since I last set foot in that place."

Andrew was surprised at the statement and somewhat confused for he thought Rycroft let his men visit their respective homes once in a while. "You've been here seven years and yet have not made the short trip to Limberry?" he asked as he stared at the hazy figure across from him, who chuckled in response.

"I've only been here for three days, sir," the person explained, "on business. I'm actually stationed in Lesalia, but I was born and raised in Limberry."

Now Andrew was clearly confused, rubbing his beard in thought as he continued to stare at the obscure figure, feeling as if he knew him. "I do not mean to pry," he began, "but I'm curious. If you are from Limberry, why are you stationed in Lesalia? Wouldn't it have been better if you stayed at Limberry, near your home?"

"Yes, it would have been better," the figure replied, "but my family wanted me to train at Lesalia under a close friend of theirs, a knight whose family had served the royal family for many generations. But," Andrew note the change of tone in the stranger's voice as he continued remorsefully, "he died about a month ago, killed by a ninja." He then sighed and next he spoke, it was with resolve. "Despite my failure, I still carry out my duty to his family, warding his only remaining kin. And it is because of this duty that I cannot return to Limberry."

The story further confused Andrew, raising his suspicion that indeed he knew the person that was talking to him. The circumstances pertaining to his own family were very similar to this stranger's events, and there was only one knight that had died in Lesalia a month ago…

But what was his grandson doing here, if it was Galvin he was speaking to?

"Well, I'd best be going," the stranger said suddenly, breaking into Andrew's thoughts. "I've been here longer than I would have liked."

Andrew saw the shape stand and move towards the next room that contained a huge pool, its water chill and invigorating to dispel any lassitude produced by the steam. For a moment, the mist parted and he could see the figure's face clearly.

Just as he suspected.

It _was_ Galvin!

As his grandson passed him, he asked calmly as if his presence did not surprise him, "What are you doing here, Galvin?"

His grandson turned at the sound of his name and gasped when he saw who he had been conversing with. "Grandfather? What are you doing here?"

"I asked you first," countered Andrew as he too stood up and followed his grandson to the larger room that contained the pool.

"I," Galvin began then stopped, unsure of how to continue. How could he explain to his grandfather that he was here because Ramia had brought him here? Because Ramia had discovered that her mother was a prisoner here in Bethla?

A splash saved him from the trouble.

The pool was large enough for swimming and he found his grandfather enjoying the cool water as he swam the length of the pool several times. He watched him as he dove under the water only to emerge seconds later, brushing back wet locks away from his face. As all Limberrians were exceptional sailors, they were expected to be excellent swimmers as well and the Birch family was no exception.

Galvin joined his grandfather in the pool, quickly forgetting the conversation they had earlier as he grunted at the shock of the icy water, numbing at first, but then invigorating. Both grandfather and grandson raced around the pool, enjoying the practice until both were too numb and tired to continue.

They climbed out of the pool and dried themselves, each accepting a clean shirt and breeches offered by an attendant. "Grandfather, about me being here…" Galvin began when they were both dressed.

Andrew shook his head. "I think it's best we discuss the purpose of our visits more privately," he told him. "Rycroft is awaiting me at his quarters. Best you accompany me. It would save me from telling the same story twice."

"All right, grandfather," Galvin nodded, wondering what news he brought as he followed him to Lord Rycroft's chambers. It certainly couldn't be as serious as his own visit to the fort.

They proceeded through torchlit corridors with windows looking over the surrounding landscape, albeit windows that were cut deep to provide firing points for bowmen. They soon entered the airy room of the keeper, tapestries coloring the walls and rugs the floor, a cheerful fire burning in a hearth.

Rycroft greeted them, briefly glancing questioningly at Galvin. "Did you tell him?" he asked softly and the young knight shook his head, frowning in discomfort at the subject attached to that question.

Again, his grandfather saved him when he said, "I bid him to come with me for both of you need to hear this. Then after, perhaps you can tell me why you're here, Galvin, unless it is of great importance that I should know…?"

Galvin shook his head again before Rycroft could voice a response. "As Lord of Limberry, your presence here far exceeds my own. So please, shall you tell us why you are here?"

Andrew noticed Rycroft's troubled expression as the keeper gestured to the chairs set about a table of polished mahogany, a pitcher of the promised cider and a few cups at its middle. He doubted that the troubled expression was in anticipation of the news he was about to impart to both of them, but in response to Galvin's upcoming explanation.

They settled around the table and Rycroft poured the cider, passing each a cup before settling himself down. "Shall we begin?" he commenced after.

Andrew nodded, his good news seeming to be the opposite as Galvin and Rycroft stared at him gravely. Anxious, and a bit curious, to hear Galvin's story, he quickly explained his mission starting with the visit from Gabriel to Limberry's plan of remaining neutral, giving the impression of support to the Church when in actuality, he was the eyes and ears of the rebellion army, planning to send word to Reuel of the Church's future plans.

Rycroft nodded in satisfaction at such news. "This is good news indeed," he murmured thoughtfully. "So, the Nanten are on the move, but if Father Jaren gets wind of this, he may send word to Lionel for reinforcements. How much I hate those Church-loving bastards, I cannot refuse them if they pass through here to get to Bervenia. What would you have me do?"

Andrew frowned as he stroked his beard. "Why can't you refuse them? Bethla Garrison is a fort manned by both Nanten and Aegis knights. There are no Shrine Knights here to keep you from fighting them. You could claim that you have broken your ties with the two provinces and are acting on your own will. I'm sure those under your command would willingly follow you despite your 'betrayal'."

"But that's where you're wrong, grandfather," Galvin suddenly inserted before the keeper could put in a word. "It's true that no Shrine Knights are posted here, but there are a few Church authorities present."

"Yes," Rycroft murmured, "now that she's here."

"Who's here?" Andrew asked curiously. He saw the apprehensive looks that passed between the two and wondered who this person was to cause them so much worry. Then Galvin turned to face him.

"She is the reason why I'm here, grandfather, the reason why Ramia and I are here." He clutched his cup of cider as he explained what had transpired the day after his family had departed from Oaks Keep and Lesalia and the unexpected trip to Bethla, aware of Andrew's frown as he listened.

When Galvin was done he said, "So that would explain your presence here. Ramia is finally reunited with her mother, and as much as I want to be happy for her, I cannot help but feel that this would complicate things a bit." He then set to stroking his beard again as he leaned back in his chair in thought.

"Indeed," Rycroft agreed bitterly. "Jaren has his eyes on this fort as long as she is held prisoner here, more so now that Ramia knows of her mother's whereabouts."

Galvin looked at the keeper strangely as Andrew leaned forward, his hands folded on the table as he asked, "What do you mean by that?"

"A day after you left here with your family," Rycroft began as he explained, "a Divine Knight arrived carrying a letter for the warden assigned to guard the…" _Heretic _was too strong of a word especially for one whose family had been close friends with the Birch family, so he settled for, "…prisoner. I assume it was from the accursed priest. The knight did not stay long, leaving immediately after his errand. A day later, you two arrived." He looked at Galvin who asked:

"What did the letter say?"

Rycroft shrugged. "Who knows? But I find it strange that one thing happened quickly after the other, as if it was somehow planned…" He then grunted as he took a sip of his cider. "That priest is plotting something; I know it, especially concerning the two women."

"Then I must find out what he's plotting," Andrew returned before finishing his drink. "As you and I suspect, it may involve Ramia." He then stood up, indicating the end of the discussion. "Speaking of Ramia, I wish to speak with her."

"I'll take you to her," Galvin offered as he, too, stood.

"You'll probably find her down in the dungeon at this time," Rycroft informed them as he idly poured himself another cup of cider.

Galvin nodded. "I know. She's been spending a lot of time down there."

Andrew sighed as he shook his head. "Fifteen years… And I'm afraid this is just the beginning…"

* * *

Lars Sertawz, warden assigned by Father Jaren to look after the heretic, sat stolidly at his desk in his office that was located below the main floor of the fortress, near the stairs leading down to the dungeon, perusing the letter he received from the Divine Knight a few days ago, wondering irritably when Ramia would leave so he could carry out its instructions. He did not have to wonder long for their came a knock on the wooden door. The warden glowered, returning the letter in its drawer before bidding the knocker entry.

Andrew entered followed by Galvin who carefully shut the door behind him. "Are you the warden in charge here?" inquired Lord Birch.

"Yes, I am," Lars replied as he stood to address the visitor properly.

Andrew saw that he was as tall as him and seemed, despite the thick overrobe that swathed him, skeletally thin. His shoulders were strangely hunched, his hands long. Hair the color of fresh snow fell straight and unadorned from the dome of his skull. His face was triangular, the brow wide and high, rising craggy to overhang eyes sunk so deep in the sockets, twin craters of blackness at the centers of which glared two pinpricks of pale blue light. The nose was straight and long, his mouth narrow. The chin was the lowermost point of the triangle, drawn in toward the slender neck as the head ducked slightly in greeting. "Lars is my name and you are…?"

It seemed that a corpse welcomed them as Andrew wondered if the pale man ever went out of the dungeon for some air or sun to color his pallid features. "Lord Andrew Birch of Limberry," was the curt response he gave. "My grandson," he gestured towards Galvin behind him, "told me that I could find my daughter down in the dungeon visiting someone."

"If you speak about Ramia then yes, she is down there." Lars' voice was soft as silk, but as sharp as steel. He pointed to the stairs behind his desk. "Shall I guide you there?"

Andrew shook his head. "There's no need. I know the way well enough."

"Of course," the warden nodded in acceptance.

Andrew nodded once in return before gesturing to his grandson to follow him as he begun to climb down those stairs.

For the second time in his life, Galvin went down the rough staircase, feeling uneasy in its darkness. He vowed never to visit the dungeon again after his first trip, knowing it for its misery, but he could not disobey his grandfather and so followed him into the dark until it was disturbed by the faint glow of the torches at the bottom where they were greeted by the same jailer that had greeted them three days ago.

"My grandfather wishes to see Ramia," he informed him.

The jailer nodded and led them to the same cell where they could hear someone speaking within, and when the jailer moved to unlock the door, Andrew motioned him to halt, indicating silence afterwards. As he stepped forward, the jailer stepped back, allowing him to peer through the bars of the wooden door.

A lantern glowed softly, radiating its dull light within the small chamber so that he could see the two women crouched on the floor. He recognized Ramia immediately, being the hale of the two, looking to be in high spirits since last he saw her. Perhaps because it was due to the other woman's presence.

Her hair was lank and filthy, the gray robe she wore torn and disheveled, stained with dark splotches that might have been blood. She looked smaller, yet somehow larger. That, he decided, was her eyes—they blazed with such purpose as he'd not before seen, as if their light alone animated her wasted body.

"Agrias…" he whispered her name, unknowingly alerting one of the cell's occupants of his presence.

Hearing Andrew's voice, Agrias turned her head to face him, staring unflinchingly. Ramia, seeing that something has caught her mother's attention, looked to where she stared and gasped, "Father!" when she saw who it was at the door.

Andrew nodded then briefly disappeared from view as the jailer unlocked the door that later swung open as her father entered the cell. She and her mother rose to meet him, one facing him curiously as the other stared at him indifferently. "I'm glad to see you safe, Ramia," he began as he hugged his daughter, but shifting his gaze to Agrias, who was frowning in disapproval.

"It's good to see you too, Agrias," he whispered softly so the jailer could not hear, still in the guise of hugging Ramia. He knew the jailer would take word to Lars at what transpired down here, so he had to be careful.

"Father…" Ramia protested softly, embarrassed at his display of fatherly affection.

"Quiet, Ramia," Andrew reprimanded. "That jailer is watching us closely and I must speak with your mother. This is the only way I could think of to hide our words from him." He then looked at Agrias. "My time is short so I'll get to the point. I promise to support Ramia in any way I can even in efforts of releasing you from this place."

"You knew?" Ramia asked.

Andrew nodded. "I guessed. To have finally found your mother, only to risk losing her again so soon must be hard to bear. She is the only family you have left and I'll not see you separated again."

"Father…" Ramia clutched him, wetting his chest with her tears, touched by his selflessness.

As Andrew held her, he saw the doubt reflected in Agrias' eyes. "It's nothing to me—your father was my good friend and I love Ramia as my own. All I ask is that you trust me."

Agrias stared at him, searching his eyes, and seeing the truth within them, she nodded, smiling slightly.

Andrew then parted with Ramia, but still he spoke softly. "I must go now lest they get suspicious, but before I leave, there is something else both of you need to know. A rebellion has begun against the Church, this one different from all the others. This may be to your advantage or disadvantage, depending on how Jaren plans on quelling it. I wish I had the time to explain fully, but know that I secretly support this rebellion." He then looked at Ramia. "Tomorrow I leave for Lesalia. I want you and Galvin to accompany me. I know this is sudden," he added upon seeing her frown, "but if you want to help your mother, it's best you come to the capital with me. You could do more good there instead of staying here."

Ramia was about to protest, saying that she needed more time, but her mother stalled any argument by placing a withered hand on her wrist. Agrias shook her head in admonition, pointing at Ramia then at Andrew before bringing their hands together.

Andrew briefly stared at their clasped hands, then—with a heavy heart—brought Ramia and Agrias' hands together. "Make your farewells…" he whispered remorsefully as he released their hands, which were still clasped.

Without another word, he left the cell, paying no heed to the jailer as he closed the door behind him, nor did he paid any heed to his grandson who quickly followed behind him as he went up the stairs. There were many things to be done—preparing for the trip to Lesalia for one, but most importantly…

...preparing for the battles that were to come.

* * *

Riovanes Castle.

A bustling port city sitting at the edge of the North Ice Sea, it was home to the late Grand Duke Gelkanis Barinten, also known as the 'Weapon King' for making strong weapons and training soldiers and magicians for his army.

Because of their location, Riovanes was a hub of trade much like Zarghidas Trade City, but unlike the trade city who dealt mostly with Ordallian merchants, Riovanes traded with those countries in the north. There was never a day the harbor would be empty; it was always filled with docked merchant vessels. Merchants, sailors, and mercenaries were plentiful and that was how Barinten was able to assemble a group of these mercenaries to fight on his behalf during the Fifty Year War.

But where there were trading ships, there also came the threat of pirates.

The walls of Riovanes Castle are twice as thick as normal walls built to fend off pirates that terrorized the northern seas. There was also the added protection of Ivalice's only navy.

Like Limberry, Riovanes possessed skilled sailors, but unlike their fresh water cousin, they were trained to withstand long journeys across the sea, to survive the winds and the waves, and to arrive at their destination alive. Such was their ways, guarding the seas from both invaders and pirates that would threaten their way of life.

But where as these sailors—called Marines by the local townsfolk because of their blue capes as opposed to the red of the castle's knights—protected the coast from pirates, the Tempest Knights protected the city from threats of any nature—a huge contrast to their namesake, which only serves to destroy those in its path. It was a tempest, however, that had saved Riovanes from being pillaged and destroyed.

The story goes that men from the Northlands sought to raid Riovanes in their longboats. This was long before Riovanes became part of Ivalice, when they were still an independent kingdom. As such, only their knights were available to ward this threat, seeking no aid from the other kingdoms. Having no boats of their own, they prepared for their arrival at their shores with gleaming swords. Catapults were also ready to fire once their targets were within range.

But none were to be fired.

Before the Vikings—as they were later called—could come within range, a huge storm swept them away, rendering their longboats to splinters. The next day, wreckages from the enemy fleet had washed onto shore. The tempest had saved them and that's how Riovanes' knights got their name.

They were the 'Tempest' that would stop their enemies from advancing.

Within a tempest, however, was an 'eye', a place of calm in the center of the storm, and as the storm passed, the 'eye' would move along, bringing calm to another region as the winds destroyed what had been calm before.

Such an 'eye' existed within the Tempest Knights, an elite group that did not strike until all deemed it safe. As the 'eye of the storm' produced a false sense of security, they posed the greatest danger within the ranks of the Tempest Knights.

Barinten personally saw to the forming of the 'eye', as he built orphanages around Fovoham for children who lost parents during the Fifty Year War, providing training to those he deemed 'gifted' to become professional assassins. He christened them 'Kamyuja', which meant in a northern tongue, "To strike when all is calm".

And that's what the former leader of the elite assassination group planned to do during this time of 'calm'.

The day passed without incident, the docks filled with merchant vessels, the taverns along the wharf rowdy as always with drunken sailors, and the Marines patrolling the harbor. Shrine Knights guarding the gates were lax in their duties, hardly questioning the travelers, even when one was draped in the fur of a panther.

Malak thought he would never return to Riovanes—the place where he and his sister were adopted by Barinten and raised to become members of the Kamyuja—having found his place among his people hidden in the wilds of Fovoham.

_This place reeks of bad memories_, he thought dolefully as he looked up at the Romandan spires that top the castle. On the rooftop of that very same castle, he had been shot and killed by the person who raised him as he rushed forward to protect his sister. Unlike the Grand Duke, he was fortunate enough to obtain a second life. He did not waste such a gift—a blessing to most, a miracle to his sister. He looked at her now, seeing the uneasiness in her eyes as she gazed around.

Like her brother, Rafa thought she would never set foot in Fovoham's capital. She hated the place—the place where she was taught only to kill and to serve the Grand Duke. She shuddered at that thought, drawing her arms about herself.

Seeing her distress, Malak gently placed a hand on her shoulder as he whispered, "It's all right. I'm here now, remember? You don't have to be afraid anymore."

Rafa looked up at him and saw his reassuring smile. She felt calm then as she nodded. "You're right, brother." She then looked at the castle, her eyes suddenly firm compared to the uneasiness she felt a few moments ago. "I need not be afraid…"

Malak gave her a small squeeze, proud to see that she finally closed that chapter of her life. "Come then," he beckoned her softly. "We must seek the others."

"Where will we start?" his sister asked him as she followed behind, noticing that they were heading towards the wharf.

"The Galley," was the simple reply.

The Galley was a tavern—one of many along the wharf—and a favorite of the Kamyuja, known for their strong drinks and its tendency for fights. As leader of the Kamyuja, it was Malak's responsibility to check his men from time to time and to know where they were at all times, orders or not. Therefore, he learned about the tavern. With any luck, they would find a member or two there.

As they approached the dockside bar, they heard a loud commotion within, the splintering of wood as someone fell on top of a table and the bellowing of patrons as a fight ensued unmistakable in the evening air. A body suddenly crashed through the door, as Malak and Rafa were about to enter, having to immediately jump to the side to avoid colliding with the thrown individual.

"Don't bother coming back here if you don't have the money to pay!" the owner of The Galley roared from the splintered doorway, shaking an angry fist at the crumpled figure on the street, before returning to his bar, muttering, "To think you were once a member of Kamyuja…"

Hearing the owner's remark, Malak and Rafa turned to regard the body. It seemed luck was on their side, having found a former member of the assassination group, if the owner's comments proved true. As the thought passed, both siblings went to help the stranger, who spat as he slowly rose.

"Are you all right, sir?" Malak asked politely as he helped the stranger up. "You're not injured, are you?"

"I'm fine!" the man growled, pushing Malak away. "I don't need your help!"

"Of course," said Malak as he stepped back, allowing the man to brush himself off.

During the short exchange, Rafa studied the person while there was still light to see. The sun was sinking quickly beneath the waves of the harbor, the wharf beginning to crowd as sailors and dockside laborers rushed to the taverns.

He was a head shorter than Malak, and a lot leaner, as if he didn't have enough food to eat, yet somehow knew they were muscles carefully toned to react to the slightest movement. His face was angular, the cheekbones prominent, the jet black eyes slightly slanted. His hair was cropped short, a red headband about his head, the only piece of decoration, the ends slightly fluttering in the sea breeze.

Rafa felt she knew him, but could not recall his name or where she had seen him last until he turned about as he walked away, exposing a faded symbol on the back of his tunic. The symbol was of a skull and a broken sword.

The symbol of Shiken, the Death Sword.

"Wait!" Malak called to him, also recognizing the symbol upon his back. The man continued on his way and he shouted, "Shiken!"

That got the Death Sword's attention as he turned around to regard the strange man that had briefly spoken to him. "How do you know my name?" he asked warily, crossing his arms on his chest, seemingly casual as he secretly readied to throw a few shurikens at the strangers if they proved to be unfriendly. "Who are you?"

"Then what the owner said is true," Malak stated, ignoring Shiken's questions. "You were part of Kamyuja."

Shiken retorted, "What if I was? What does that have to do with you knowing me?"

"Plenty," replied the former Hell Knight. "I have a message from the former leader of the Kamyuja to the former members of the assassination group. He said that if I were to find any of you, I would tell you this message. Care to listen or would you rather throw those shurikens you hold in your hand?"

Shiken looked at him in surprise as he thought, _How did he know?_

"The Hell Knight has told me everything about you and the others," Malak explained, giving answer to the Death Sword's unasked question. "Now would you listen or would you rather be on your way?"

Knowing that he could not take this stranger by surprise, he uncrossed his arms and shrugged saying, "Why not? I'm surprised to hear that the boy is still alive. Hiding from the Church isn't easy especially when there are Shrine Knights patrolling the cities." He thrust a thumb towards the docks where knights in red capes inspected the ships.

"Obviously," Malak nodded in agreement.

"So, what is the message?" Shiken asked, returning to their previous subject.

"He sends his greetings," Malak began, "and wishes to meet with all of you at the 'usual place' around midnight tonight. He will address you then. That is his message. I was to relay it to all members but…"

"You can't find them," Shiken finished for him. "That's not surprising since most left this city a long time ago." He then nodded, coming to a decision. "I'll relay your message to the others. They'll probably be as curious as me to know why Malak has returned since Barinten's fall."

Malak ducked his head in gratitude. "Very well then. We shall leave you to your task." And with that said, he and his sister left the ninja, returning to the main portion of the city.

As they walked, Rafa asked, "Brother, why didn't you say who you really were?"

"I did not want to make a scene, Rafa," Malak replied solemnly. "If someone gets wind of who we really are, it may cause an alarm that would have Shrine Knights coming down our throats. And the last thing Ramza needs is our deaths weighing on his troubled mind. He has other important things to worry about…"

Rafa nodded in understanding, knowing that he was about to face a battle, neither of the sword nor the mind…

But of the heart.

And as her brother suggested that they eat and rest awhile before meeting with the group, she prayed that he would not succumb to the sorrow, but overcome it.

* * *

Darkness came early to the port city, changing the tides, as strong winds blew from the north, swelling the waves, making it difficult even for a skilled sailor to navigate through the whitewaters.

But not the Kamyuja.

They knew the waters and how to tame it for were they not the 'eye', the calm of the storm?

Shiken expertly controlled the dinghy with its eight occupants, forcing it to stay on its course towards a cave mouth along the rocky cliffs of Ivalice's northern shores. No moonlight shone, the sky dark with only the stars to guide him. He looked up now, discerning their position, and seeing that they were close to their destination, ordered his passengers to take up oars and start rowing. The current had carried them where they needed to be and now they had to do the rest in bringing them the rest of the way.

After many minutes of back-wrenching strokes, the crew finally entered the cavernous opening. Someone lit a lantern and mounted it on the boat's prow, dimly lighting their way deeper into the cave. The slap of oars was discernible in the quiet grotto, echoing eerily among the rocky walls. Soon a faint glow appeared ahead and Shiken watched coolly as it grew steadily brighter. He made out the shape of a woman standing at the landing stage, behind her the stairs that would lead to the 'usual place'.

As the jetty hove into view, Shiken rose slightly and shouted a command that instantly reversed the oars, bringing the craft to a smooth halt directly below the steps leading up to the wharf. A rope was secured to a mooring ring before the passengers made their way to shore.

Shiken sprang to the jetty after his companions, halting with his back to the waters and his eyes on the woman who greeted them—the same woman he had seen with the messenger on the wharf that same eve.

She was dark of eye and skin and hair, so that it was difficult to determine the expression on her face, though her voice was warm and friendly as she motioned to the stairs behind her and said, "Welcome. Malak Galthana awaits you at the top of those stairs."

Shiken nodded and followed her across the jetty, the others falling in step behind, wondering at this strange meeting.

It's been twenty years since they had last gathered and, like Shiken, were intrigued to meet with their lost leader, curious to hear what he has to say. It was stranger still to climb up the steps, remembering the times they had climbed it past, recalling the surrounding walls that glistened under the torchlight, their footfalls as rhythmic as the water that dripped from the rocks above. They soon emerged into a large room, dark except for the torch their escort held.

"I have brought them, Malak," she called into the darkness.

A snapping of fingers answered her call and the chamber was suddenly bathed in torchlight, the group shielding their eyes as they adjusted to the brightness. His eyes settling quicker than the others, Shiken surveyed the area, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Hell Knight.

The assembly room was just the way he last remembered it save that most of the wood had rotted away due to the degree of salt in the sea air. The white and red banner of the Eye—the symbol of their group—that hung at the other end of the room was frayed, the ends hanging in tattered strips. The only furniture that seemed to have escaped time and the sea air unscathed was the huge chair at the end of the long table, close to the banner.

The chair's back was turned towards them and he watched as the woman approached that very chair and whispered something to its hidden occupant. Shiken thought it best that he should initiate the meeting, wanting to ask questions, and eager to find answers. He stepped forward and said, "I have brought the other members with me as your messenger have requested."

"And I thank you," the person sitting at the chair replied. "Please," Shiken saw a hand wave towards the rotting chairs that surrounded the long table, "make yourselves comfortable. You must be weary from the long boat ride."

Shiken warily accepted the invitation, choosing a seat somewhere in the middle of the table. The others followed his example, just as wary as he, giving suspicious glances at the woman who continued to stand near the head chair.

"Now then," Shiken again initiated the conversation, "why have you summoned us?"

"Why was the Kamyuja created?" the hidden Hell Knight countered.

Shiken frowned at the question as he gazed at the others wearing similar expressions or close to it, confused on why a question was asked. Having no clear reason, he decided to answer the question, hoping it would yield the nature of this meeting. "As the name implies, to strike when all is calm."

"That is correct," Malak agreed, still keeping himself hidden from view. "But there is another reason."

Shiken was suddenly intrigued, leaning casually on his chair, propping his feet up on the table as he began toying with a dagger. He wanted to throw it at the head chair, doubting that it would penetrate through the thick wood to kill their former leader, but suspected that it would not even reach the chair as the woman watched them like hawks, eyes shifting at the slightest movement. She had a protective air about her and he wondered if there was a special relationship between her and the Hell Knight. _Perhaps she's his woman_, he thought, but could not elaborate on it further for another member spoke.

"And what is _that_ reason?" a disgruntled archer asked. She did not come here to speak of reasoning or motives of who they are, or were for that matter. She came here in the hopes of fighting for the Kamyuja again, to regain the respect their group once claimed.

"As the eye controls the storm, we are to also watch and control the Tempest Knights if they were not doing their duty," the hidden Hell Knight replied calmly. "Ever since the Church took over, they have neglected it."

"Nonsense!" a knight cried out angrily as he pounded the table with his fist. Shiken thought he heard a slight crack from the blow, carefully withdrawing his feet from the table lest it fell under its weight as the knight continued defiantly, "We _are_ doing our duty!" as he stood up and drew his sword. "And I'll prove it to you by arresting you, heretic Malak, in the name of the Church!"

Shiken observed the woman whispering something into the hidden Hell Knight's ear, which elicited a booming laugh from the chair. This reaction further angered the knight. "Why do you laugh?" he demanded as he sliced his sword through the air in an angry gesture.

"Because I find you amusing, dear knight," Malak chuckled lightheartedly, unperturbed by the knight's threat. "You wear the colors of Riovanes, yet you arrest me in the name of the Church. Where do your loyalties lie? Riovanes or the Church?"

The knight snorted in response. "Riovanes, the Church, none of it matters to me, only that reward money."

"Strange… Just a moment ago, you boldly claimed that you were doing your duty as a knight," the Hell Knight noted calmly. "Now all you care about is the money? How contradictory of you. It seems you have no loyalties except to your own greed." He paused then and though the others could not see him, he looked up at the faded banner in thought.

"It was greed that created us," he stated softly afterwards. "Greed for our strength, our skills, our power… We were trained to fight and to kill using our individual abilities. All in the name of greed… Do you want that, dear knight? Do you want to be as greedy as our creator? As greedy as Barinten?"

Shiken and the others saw the uncertainty on the knight's face as he stared at the chair, his sword lowering a fraction as his confidence waned.

He reflected on Malak's words, sensing a bit of truth in them. He did not want to become like the late Grand Duke, who taught them that the strong rule the weak, that only power matters in this world. And like a fool, he believed in that philosophy, fighting and killing for that cause.

But it did not bring him satisfaction in life.

Was he born to kill or to be something more? To use his talents for something better?

When the Kamyuja disbanded, he joined the Tempest Knights in answer to these questions. He wanted to use his talents for the people, guarding and protecting them from tyrants such as the late Grand Duke, who did not even care for Riovanes, only his quest for power. Instead of doing harm, as he was trained to do, he would be doing good.

Once this was realized, he fully lowered his sword and answered, "No," before sheathing the weapon. "I realize now where my loyalties lie and the reason why I have joined the Tempest Knights." He then turned to regard the others. "My loyalty is to Riovanes and, therefore, to its people," he firmly claimed without shame. "Not to the Church that has forgotten us for their own selfish deeds. Just to think that I once believed in the Church sickens me."

There was a slight murmur in the room as some nodded their agreement, mostly those who have joined the ranks of the Riovanes knighthood.

Again, Shiken observed the woman whispering something in Malak's ear in response to their reaction.

In which Malak replied, "I'm glad to hear this from most of you. But there are some who are still unsure. Perhaps they care for the money more than their pride…"

"It's better than being burned at the stake," said Shiken. "You cannot convince me or anyone else otherwise." He then saw some movement between the woman and their former leader.

"Even with this?" Malak inquired as the woman stepped forward and placed a red crystal on the table. Shiken's eyes glittered with interest as he and the others stared at the stone.

It was one of the Holy Stones that they had collected for Barinten during the Lion War!

"I sense by your silence that you are now willing to listen," observed the former leader of the Kamyuja as he finally stood up from his chair and faced his visitors for the first time.

"You!" Shiken gasped upon recognition of the man he had met at the docks, dressed in leathers as similar as the woman who accompanied him save for the panther fur about his shoulders. "Malak Galthana?"

Malak nodded as he stepped forward towards the table. "I'm sorry to have lied to you, Shiken, but I did not want to make a scene and I wasn't sure if you would bring the rest of the members if you had known my identity." He then gazed at the others, his dark eyes grave, seeing that they were so few.

_Hopefully this will be enough_, he thought as his gaze lingered a moment longer on the knight that had challenged him. He then turned back to Shiken who exclaimed in annoyance, "Enough! You still haven't told us the reason why you have summoned us here."

Malak smiled as he shrugged. "Isn't it obvious?" Shiken stared at him curiously as he began to walk around the room. "The purpose of this gathering," began the Hell Knight as the knight resumed his seat, "is to revive the Kamyuja. As I have said, the Kamyuja was formed not only to strike when all is calm, but to also bring the Tempest Knights back on course if they have strayed far from their duty."

He paused behind the chair of the knight, who shifted nervously, feeling the weight of his stare upon him. "Your name, sir knight," requested the Hell Knight.

"Sir Kristopherson Galyndo," the knight replied.

"State your duty, Sir Galyndo," the Hell Knight instructed him, "so that all may hear."

"To protect and serve the people," Sir Galyndo stated without hesitation.

"To protect and serve the people…" Malak repeated as he resumed his pacing around the damp room. "Now think carefully and answer truthfully. Are the people satisfied with the way things are right now?"

He paused again, this time at the other end of the table, surveying them as each looked to their own thoughts for the answer. He especially looked to those who were not of the knighthood, who were soldiers for hire, Shiken among them.

The ninja winced as he rubbed a bruise on his cheek that had formed shortly after the brief scuffle at the tavern, a somewhat painful reminder of his current position. Mercenaries were lacking in jobs these days, more than ever now that there were few travelers on the road where most were hired to protect passing caravans. It would be easy to kill the Hell Knight and claim the reward money for his own, thus both remedying himself of his lack of funds and doing a favor to the Church.

But the owner's last remark made him think otherwise.

"The people are afraid," he unknowingly answered for all of them. "Fifteen years of living under the Church's rule… They seek release from this oppression."

"There has been news of rebellions," Kristopherson added, "but all have ended in failure. That's why we're a bit hesitant when it comes to the Church."

"A bit hesitant or afraid?" challenged Malak. The knight turned his gaze away as the others looked down at the table in an attempt to hide their shame. It was not hesitation on their part that stopped them from doing what was right, but fear…

Fear that they would fail.

"We have no wish to embrace the flames of the stake," said Sir Galyndo, a fragment of his confidence returning as he again stared at Malak.

"You will not," the Hell Knight claimed with assurance, "as long as you have the stone with you to prove your worth."

"How?" Shiken countered.

Malak smirked. "Have you heard of the Zodiac Brave Story?"

* * *

Igros, Capital of Gallione.

It served as the home of the late Prince Larg and the Hokuten Knights under his command, the most feared knighthood in all of Ivalice, the second being the Nanten of Zeltennia. Unlike the home of their Black Lion rival, Igros boasted to be the largest fort city next to the Imperial Capital. It possessed a long history from where many war heroes and great noble families were born, the Beoulves foremost among them.

Pillars of knighthood they were called, having served the royal family for generations. Their three-hundred year history was filled with many glorious battles and honorable knights, most of whom became leaders of the Hokuten.

Twenty years has passed since their fall, putting an end to their long history, yet their spirit lived on in the form of a man and his sister…

Ramza and Alma Beoulve were the last of the once well-respected family. Both siblings had been presumed dead until Olan claimed them to be alive in his report. The truth of their survival now known in Ivalice, they too were now hunted by the Church.

They were unafraid, however, as they rode down a familiar road, one that led to the Beoulve Mansion, the place of their birth. The land that stretched around them had belonged to their family and they wondered if someone owned it or has been abandoned after their presumed deaths.

That was soon answered when they caught sight of holdings that dotted the land like islands amidst a sea, the residents preparing for the harsh winter ahead as they chopped wood and stored whatever food they could save.

So someone did own the land.

Delita—who had agreed to accompany the siblings on their journey to Igros—had his own thoughts. Just seeing those people reminded him of his humble origins as the son of a chocobo breeding family that had worked for the Beoulve family.

"I never thought to see this place again," he murmured as he closed his eyes in remembrance.

Born of common blood, his childhood was not one of comfort. Every day he would feed the giant birds and brush them down, his father taking the matured birds to market, hoping to sell at least one for a few gil. His mother, on the other hand, stayed at home more often than not, to take care of him and his sister. He tried to help out often as he could, lightening the workload for both of his parents.

However, life became harder when the plague struck their home. Losing both of his parents, he had to work twice as hard just to keep food on the table for both he and his sister while earning enough gil to pay the heavy taxes imposed on those living in the fiefdom. They were barely old enough to know the way of the world, only that they needed money and food to survive…

Hearing his father's soft comment, Raizen asked, "Is this where you were born, father?"

His son's voice broke into his thoughts as he opened his eyes and looked to his right where he rode alongside him, answering, "Yes," as he nodded. He then turned forward as he added, "I was the son of a chocobo breeder, but I was not destined to carry on the family business, as you can see. Your grandparents died from the plague when I was but a boy. Having no other kin, General Balbanes took pity on my sister and me and took us in."

"And that's how you met Ramza and Alma," Raizen concluded and Delita nodded.

Soon after, the gates to the former Beoulve Mansion loomed ahead, marking the end of the road.

_Home…_, Ramza thought as he halted before the familiar, open iron gates, staring somewhat longingly at the white building that stood at a distance, the banner of the noble family unreadable. Dare he go in? He was curious to know who had inherited their estate after their fall.

"Shall we go, brother?" Alma asked, voicing his very thought, as she brought her chocobo—one that she had taken from the Galthana's Village—next to Ramza's. "Shall we meet the current lord or shall we stay here and reminisce?"

"But we'll be entering uninvited," Raizen commented. "Wouldn't that be trespassing?"

"Not really," Delita replied with a casual wave of his hand. "The gates are open, inviting all those to enter, like it had been when General Balbanes was lord. It was a sign to the entire fiefdom that he was available to settle any matters; an open-door policy he called it. But I don't see why we should make ourselves known to the current lord." He then looked at Ramza and asked, "Why have we come here anyway? Our place is at Igros Castle."

Instead of replying to Delita's inquiry, Ramza urged Boco forward pass the gates towards the mansion at the paved pathway's end. Alma and Raizen followed his example, leaving Delita behind, who sighed in resignation before following after them.

They rode pass neatly trimmed hedges and trees whose branches were practically bare, a sign of the approaching winter months. Stillness governed the air save for the rhythmic tapping of their chocobos' clawed feet upon the pathway. The wind that blew was gentle and soothingly cool, the fallen leaves upon the pathway swirling in its wake as if bowing in greeting to the guests.

"Do not expect a homecoming," muttered Ramza as the mansion drew closer, the banner almost readable. It seemed very familiar to him somehow…

"Impossible!" he suddenly gasped, bringing his chocobo to a halt, staring up at the banner in disbelief.

It was the standard of the Beoulve family!

"How could this be?" he heard her sister whisper, shocked as he.

"Perhaps your brothers survived after all," Delita suggested as he hopped off his chocobo, staring inquisitively at the banner. The green and white cloth was still in excellent condition just as he had last seen it when he had left with Ramza to rescue his sister from the Death Corps.

"No," Ramza replied firmly as he too dismounted followed silently by Alma, her eyes still fixed on the banner. "I saw them die with my own eyes..." He then looked down at his hand, whispering, "I killed them…" as he clenched it into a fist. He shook his head and muttered, "It couldn't be them."

"Then who could be the current lord?" Raizen asked as he joined them, leading his chocobo by the reins.

Ramza looked up at the banner then at the door just ahead. "There's only one way to find out," he replied as he strode purposefully across the pathway, the others in step behind. He pounded on the door thrice before stepping back as he waited anxiously with the others.

Soon the portal opened a crack. "May I help you?" the person asked in a timid manner, keeping himself from being seen as he hid behind the door. "Have you come to see the master?"

Ramza gazed into the slightly ajar door, trying to discern their nervous greeter. "Yes," he smiled reassuringly, hoping that would calm the unseen servant. "We wish to meet with him unless, of course, he's busy."

There was a slight pause. Ramza had the feeling that they were being studied by the servant as he considered the request. "Wait here," the servant then replied before closing the door softly, in turn, shutting them out of the mansion.

"Well, that was very friendly," Raizen remarked sarcastically at the servant's wariness.

Alma nodded in agreement. "Not what I expected."

"Why the edgy welcome?" Delita wondered. "We're not thieves here to plunder the mansion nor are we murderers here to assassinate the current lord. We have the decency, at least, to make ourselves known."

Ramza just stared at the door in thought before it suddenly opened. A thin, balding man emerged, a bland expression on his lined face. He wore waistcoat and breeches, his shirt white, fastened at the neck with a silk foulard, and his shoes were buckled with polished silver.

"Lord Ruglia has agreed to meet with you," he announced as blandly as his expression. "This way, please." Without awaiting an answer, he turned and walked away, assuming that they would follow him into the mansion.

Raizen made to follow then paused when he saw that none of the others moved. He looked back and saw that each of them wore an expression of surprise and disbelief. "What's wrong?" he inquired, puzzled.

"Ruglia…" his father whispered in reply as if that word alone answered the question.

"Ruglia?" Raizen repeated, still puzzled. "That's what the servant said. Do you know him then?"

"Ruglia…" Delita again whispered as he shook his head. "That was..." He looked to the Beoulve siblings especially to Ramza, who nodded, his face now grave.

"Yes, our mother's name."

* * *

Walter Ruglia was born the son of a farmer, tilling the soil of the Beoulve fiefdom as their family had done since they could remember. Never did he dream of elevated status, believing it impossible for a commoner such as he to ever attain.

Was he ever wrong in that matter.

Shortly after the Lion War had ended, he had found himself—much to his surprise—to be the successor of the lost fiefdom after the presumed deaths of Lord Beoulve's last surviving kin. It was due to his sister's relationship to the late lord that their family was able to cross the line between noble and commoner.

Sara Ruglia.

His elder sibling by a year, she had moved to the Beoulve residence when she was about twenty-five and had worked there as a parlormaid, a great honor for a farmgirl whose family could barely support themselves when the harvest had failed for three years running. It was during her stay there that Balbanes Beoulve, the great general of the Hokuten, fell in love with the simple peasant girl.

Walter didn't know why his sister did not resist his affections. She was a commoner, Balbanes a noble, and as such, the two could never be together. But it had happened and the result could not have been worse…

Two children born out of wedlock.

He had never seen his nephew or niece—his family was not allowed to enter the noble's home—but news of their births was brought to them by a messenger. News of her death was also announced by a messenger eight years later after the birth of her second child.

He had been devastated by the report. Their father and mother had died not knowing if their daughter was well, not knowing their grandchildren even if they were of illegitimate birth. He, on the other hand, did not get the chance to say goodbye, to see her one last time before God took her away.

Unlike their parents, she was given a proper burial at the public cemetery in Igros. Under normal circumstances, he would have burned her body, having little to no money to afford a funeral. But Lord Beoulve was kind enough to pay for everything, even if she was a commoner for in his eyes, she was more than common. It was hard not to hate the man, the noble, for he had been generous to him and his family even after Sara's death.

_Perhaps a little too generous_, he thought as he looked around his lavish surroundings.

The walls were covered with various paintings that depicted battles of past wars, the floor with colorful rugs. A fire blazed merrily at the hearth to one side—the past few days gradually growing chilly—as the mid-afternoon sun radiated through the windows at the other end of the room.

Lord Beoulve seemed to have possessed incredible foresight when he had written his last will and testament. He had predicted that none of his children would survive to inherit the estate, so he left it to _'the Ruglia family, Sara's kin'_.

Being the last of _'Sara's kin'_, Walter Ruglia had inherited the mansion and the surrounding lands. Everything that had once belonged to the prominent noble family now belonged to him, a common farmer. The elevated status that was the envy of most commoners was his, and he did not wish for it in the first place.

He sighed at the thought, idly raising a silver goblet to sip its contents and started, nearly spluttering red wine over himself, when there came a knock on the door. "Lord Ruglia," a mild voice called, "I bring the visitors."

Walter frowned at the title as he tried to compose himself. Even after twenty years, he was not used to being called 'lord'.

"Enter," he bellowed after as he settled back in his chair, facing the portals from across the table as the servant opened them and ushered the visitors through. He studied them closely, judging them as if he were judging the land where he would plant his next harvest.

There were four of them, three of which were male dressed as the mercenaries he had seen passing through his—_the Beoulve's_, he silently amended—land, all in leather jerkins and armed with blades. However, it was their fourth member that caught his attention. He stared at her thoughtfully, remarking at her appearance.

Like the men, she was dressed in leathers and armed with a small dagger at her belt. Her fair hair was drawn and held back by a ribbon as green as her eyes that shone with such vivacity that he had not seen for a long time. The thought saddened him somewhat for he had been staring at his sister's eyes. It was evident that this woman was not his sister, but...

...the resemblance was there.

Save for the feeling of remorse, he gave no more thought on it as he waved the servant away. "I rarely entertain guests," he began once the servant left, closing the doors behind, "especially those who are willing to visit this place. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Curiosity, I suppose," one of the men replied with a shrug and he noted that he was armed, not only with one sword, but with two, and the smile he gave was friendly and strangely familiar. "The banner outside depicts the standard of the Beoulve family."

Walter nodded as if he expected such an answer. "Mercenaries have come here before after seeing the banner, believing that the young Beoulve siblings have returned to their own home. By the way you look, I assume you are mercenaries, and I'll tell you what I have told the others: they are not here."

"Of course they're not!" the man exclaimed in return, which took Walter by surprise. "That's not why we have come here though."

"Then why?" Walter questioned in annoyance as he refilled his goblet. He had hoped that his answer would be sufficient enough to send these people on their way. Ever since acquiring the title of _Lord_, he had become wary of strangers. As a farmer, no one would bother him, leaving him to his position in society unlike a noble who was always watched closely by the public.

The man smiled reassuringly. "There's no need to fear. I'm just curious on why you left the banner hanging when you are clearly not a Beoulve."

"What does it matter?" Walter snorted, his patience wearing thin. "You're mercenaries. Such trivial things should not concern you."

"To most mercenaries, yes," the man nodded in agreement, displaying an extreme calm despite the lord's temperament, "but it concerns us a great deal. You see, we know the Beoulve family well. You can say that we have worked for them in the past. It surprises us to see their standard hanging from the roof when they are surely dead, excluding the younger siblings, of course. I'll ask again: why?"

"And I'll say it again, it should not concern you!" Walter snapped as he abruptly stood from his seat, knocking his goblet over in the process, red wine staining the polished wooden surface of the table. "Now get out! Leave these premises at once!"

"Pity," the man sighed as he turned away, motioning for the others to go ahead of him. "I was hoping to meet the uncle my mother spoke so fondly of in my childhood."

Walter heard the words, and it took a moment for them to register before he was struck by their significance. His brown eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

The mercenary stopped at the door and glanced over his shoulder. "Perhaps the question is: who are _you_?" he countered. "Mother spoke of a gentle farmer who cared for his crops as much as he cared for his family. All I see is the exact opposite. Your sister must be very disappointed in you as am I." With that last remark, he left.

Walter made no move to stop him, only staring at the door, contemplating the mercenary's words. "Cared for his crops as much as he cared for his family...?" he repeated softly to himself as he slowly sank back in his chair.

Did his sister really say such things about him to her children? Surely, he cared about his family, having sent his four children to the Aristocratic School in Igros despite the harsh ridicule from the nobles, yet they were now educated enough to lead prosperous lives here among the land that Balbanes had bestowed upon him.

He thought of the late general then and how he had cared for his sister despite their difference in rank. Even after her death, he had cared for them as if they were family. And what had he done in return but to turn away his own kin?

He suddenly felt very ashamed of himself.

* * *

Delita watched Ramza closely as they passed through familiar corridors filled with childhood memories as they wend their way to the exit. It was difficult to discern what his friend must be feeling, his expression neutral, but he had no doubt that he felt sad and perhaps a bit embarrassed by the whole situation. His feelings soon became apparent once they stepped out of the mansion into the crisp afternoon air.

As he rubbed his chocobo's feathers, he heard a soft sigh escape from his friend's lips. "I'm sorry you had to endure that," he said to him, his voice sympathetic. "You must be sad."

"Not sad," Ramza replied as he checked the buckles on his saddle. "Just...disappointed." Seeing that it was fastened securely, he mounted and looked up at the banner.

Delita again studied his friend carefully as he too mounted his chocobo, concern in his dark eyes. For all the calm Ramza showed, he saw in his eyes the pain the dismissal had caused. He then glanced at Alma and saw her brother's pain reflected in her green eyes.

"I pity them." Delita turned to see his son who also observed the siblings. "Being rejected from their own home, from their own uncle," Raizen continued as he shook his head sadly. "It's as if they do not belong here."

Delita wanted to refute his son, to say they belonged here as much as the Ruglia family as long as their banner hung from the roof of the residence. Instead, he said, "There's nothing we can do about it. Even though they are tied by blood, a huge gap separates them."

"Then perhaps a bridge must be built to link that gap," Raizen suggested.

_But who shall build it?_, Delita thought as Ramza and Alma steered their chocobos away from the mansion and started for the path.

"Come," Ramza called to them. "Let's be on our way."

None objected as they followed him down the road toward the gates, where they were interrupted by the arrival of a party of four that mirrored their own. All rode on chocobos and were dressed in similar fashion with jerkins edged with fur to keep the chill wind away and breeches that disappeared into tall boots. Three were armed with small silver-hilted daggers that hung from wide leather belts, as they surrounded their fourth member—the only female—in a protective circle.

"Ho! What have we here?" the lead rider exclaimed, his chocolate-colored eyes twinkling in friendly greeting when he caught sight of Ramza's group as he brought his party to a halt. "Visitors?"

"We were just leaving," Ramza stated flatly, bringing his own party to a stop. "I'm afraid our company is not welcomed here."

The rider frowned at the response, his eyes troubled as he rubbed the slight stubble on his chin. "Did father turn you away too? He always does that to strangers despite their good intentions," he sighed in exasperation. "I will have a word with him. This won't do to keep turning away visitors."

Ramza stared at him speculatively, curiously. "Lord Ruglia is your father?"

"Yes," the rider nodded. "I am his eldest son, Will, and I do apologize for my father's behavior. If there's anything I could do to repay on his behalf, please let me know."

"Thank you for the gesture, but there's no need." Ramza smiled apologetically, but in truth, he wished he could stay and know his cousin better for he seemed to be friendly and kind much like his own mother. However, the thought of meeting with his uncle again silenced the request. "We must be on our way to Igros Castle if we are to make it by dark," he explained before urging his chocobo forward. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Sir Will."

"I would say the same of you," said Will as he moved to block their path, "if I knew your name, sir. Your mission must be urgent—"

_You have no idea_, Ramza thought.

"—but that certainly can wait until tomorrow," Will finished. "It's almost dark." He indicated the purplish clouds colored by the setting sun that was quickly sinking in the west, shadows lengthening as stars began to dot the twilight sky. "You will not make it to the fort city by nightfall."

"He's right, brother," Alma whispered in agreement. "It will be well into the night when we reach the city."

Ramza frowned as he turned to look at her. "And what do you suggest we do? Camp out? At least in the city, we could stay at the inn and continue on with our business in the morning."

Alma grew quiet, unable to find any fault with the arrangement. She had hoped that her brother would ask their cousin if they could stay for, like he, she wished to know him better.

Much to her surprise, her wish was suddenly granted, not by her brother but by their cousin, who said: "You need not travel to the city tonight." Ramza returned his gaze to him as he continued, "I invite you all to stay at the mansion as _my_ guests." He emphasized the word, acknowledging that they need not fear expulsion again. His father could not object to such an arrangement. "It shall be your repayment for the patience you have shown to my father."

It was a tempting offer, one that Ramza considered carefully, his lips pursed in thought as he rubbed his beard. Delita offered to help him by whispering, "We may as well stay here for the night. There's no point in traveling."

"Besides, it will allow you and Alma to know your family better," Raizen added then smirked. "Perhaps you'll have your homecoming after all. Isn't this what you wanted?"

There marked the heart of the decision.

Ramza pursed his lips even tighter. He could not deny that this is what he wanted, to meet with the family he and his sister had heard so much about from their late mother. He looked to Alma and saw that she felt the same as she met his eyes.

That was all the answer he needed.

"Very well," he nodded as he smiled amicably. "We accept your invitation, Sir Will."

"Excellent!" Will exclaimed, beaming. "And please, call me Will. I wasn't one for formalities anyway. Now come, come!" He beckoned them with a wave of an excited hand as he took his position again in front of his party, leading them down the road towards the mansion.

As he and the others followed, Ramza took the time to study his cousin. Will was, as best he could judge, of an age with him, his red hair like darkly burnished copper, his features slightly tanned and weathered like any honest farmer. Again, Ramza caught himself staring at him speculatively, curiously. Even in his elevated status, did he still work the soil, unable to forget his origin as a commoner? It seemed there was more he needed to learn about him.

When they finally reached the mansion, they found Lord Ruglia standing outside. He came to meet them as they trotted to a halt, his eyes bright as he saw his son and his family, then starting wide in genuine amazement as he recognized the guests he had just dismissed.

"Father," Will greeted as he slid from the saddle. "We've guests."

It was hard to tear his eyes from the mercenaries, from his presumed nephew that led them, and he glanced sidelong at his son. "They are welcomed."

His voice was brusque and Ramza doubted they were really welcomed until he caught his eye and saw the relief there and a hint of joy.

"Thank you, father," Will said gratefully as Ramza and the others dismounted. Lord Ruglia nodded then, taking one last look at the mercenaries, turned away to disappear into the mansion, leaving his son to deal with the guests, who addressed them saying, "I offer you, honored guests, the hospitality of our home. Please," he gestured towards the door where his family entered, following his father's example. "You must be weary and hungry from your journey. Come and rest awhile. Your chocobos will be stabled and your rooms prepared."

Ramza ducked his head. "Thank you, Will."

"It's been a while since we last entertained guests," said Will as he led the way into the mansion and through its numerous corridors.

Being away on self-imposed exile for twenty years did nothing to the siblings' and Delita's memory of the candle-lit hallways and carpeted floors, knowing by the route they took that they were heading to the dining room.

Like the hallways they had passed, the dining room was just as they remembered in its simplicity. Across the entrance was a great window, the red curtains parted to reveal a scenic view of the surrounding land in its last stroke of light. To their right, a servant stoked the fire as others passed through the kitchen doors to their left, carrying various platters to the long table that stood in the middle of the room surrounded by high-backed chairs of which some were already occupied by Will's party and Lord Ruglia, who stood from the head as he greeted them softly with a smile:

"I welcome you all home. Tonight is a momentous occasion when we celebrate your return."

Assuming that his father spoke to him, Will said: "I thank you, father, but we've only been gone for a week. There's no need to be so formal."

But Walter only shook his head, his smile enigmatic as his eyes twinkled in amusement. "You and your family may have been gone a week, boy, but there are those who've been gone for far longer." The twinkle in his eyes slightly dwindled as they gazed at Ramza, adding, "Much longer…"

"Yes," Ramza agreed, returning his uncle's stare without flinching then smiled faintly as he added, "It is good to be back."

Will stared at his father then at the stranger in confusion. "I…don't quite follow…" he murmured, perplexed.

"There'll be time enough for explanations later," his father replied before motioning to the empty seats. "Please," he invited Ramza and the others, "join us. As your father has accepted us, I accept you in return. We feast in your honor and in the honor of his good name."

"Thank you—" Ramza paused briefly, unsure of his next word as he glanced sidelong at his cousin, but decided to let the truth speak for itself as he finished, "uncle."

Will gasped as he stared at the stranger in bewilderment. Though the word was spoken at a whisper, he had heard it clearly and he wondered exactly who he had invited to stay at their home. He looked at his father, who nodded in approval before resuming his seat, again gesturing for their visitors to follow suit.

As Alma, Delita, and Raizen went to take their seats, Ramza placed a comforting hand on Will's shoulder. "Come, cousin," he bid him. "I know you have many questions to ask. I have a couple to ask you myself, but as your father said, there'll be time for explanations later. Why not speak of your trip? I'm sure your father would like to hear of it."

Will settled with the suggestion as he took his seat to his father's right, across from his wife, and his—_Cousin?_, he mused—took a seat between his eldest son, Thomas, and the woman that accompanied him.

As he related their recent trip to the capital of Gallione to his father, he sensed their guests' interest in what he had to say, and when he raised his cup to be filled with wine by the servant that waited attentive behind him, he caught a glimpse of the visitors eating slowly, as if weighing each word he had spoken. He then remembered that they had been en route to Igros and, as he sipped his drink, wondered what business they would have brought there.

His curiosity was later satisfied when the table was cleared of all but the decanter and the servants were dismissed before Walter spoke without preamble.

"Our visitors belong here as much as we do, perhaps even more," he declared. "They are the son and daughter of my late sister, Sara, and of the late general, Balbanes: Ramza and Alma Beoulve, the rightful owners of this mansion and land."

A young man to the right of Will gulped in surprise, choking on wine. Will gasped, setting down his goblet. "But I thought…" He gathered his wits, scattered by this unexpected announcement.

Now he knew why the stranger had called his father 'uncle' and him 'cousin'. Because they were truly related by blood. It was strange to finally meet with kin thought to have disappeared from the face of Ivalice. But why, of all times, did they show themselves? Didn't they know that their lives were in danger? He then gazed at his son to his right, seeing that he studied the two siblings intensely, his hand slowly straying to the dagger belted at his waist.

Louis Ruglia had been recently given the title of knight in a simple ceremony at Igros Castle, another reason for their trip to the Gallione capital. As such, he knew that the Beoulve siblings are hunted criminals with a reward as large, or even larger, as any noble's purse. One of his duties as a knight was to capture criminals to be brought to trial for the crimes against them.

"It's surely common knowledge that the Beoulve siblings are wanted by the Church for crimes unknown or long forgotten," Louis spoke for the first time in an ominous tone as he fingered the hilt of his dagger. "Heretics as they say…"

"That's surely the common _belief_." Another of the visitors spoke, this one with dark eyes and an equally densely colored beard that rivaled his grandfather's. His voice was dry and Louis gazed at him skeptically, as if daring him to challenge the truth. The stranger took the bait, returning his stare with a piercing gaze of his own as he uttered, "But it's the Church's way of hiding the truth from the people."

What has started as a dare now became a riddle to the knight. Is it true that the Church sought the siblings' arrest to hide something from the public? Were they afraid of this 'truth' that the siblings seem to possess?

As a knight-in-training at Gariland Academy, he was told nothing of the reasons why the siblings were sought after, only that it was his duty to capture them and all of their accomplices by order of Prince Clemence, who he knew was being influenced by the Church. When he heard his grandfather introduce two of their visitors, he was quickly reminded of his given duty, eager to make the arrest so that his family may be finally esteemed among the aristocrats of Gallione.

Being from a family who turned 'noble' by inheritance did nothing to gain their approval, only disgust because of their common origins. When he had attended the academy, his goal was to be the top of his class. Perhaps then, the aristocracy would recognize his family. But that, too, did not work well as he had accomplished his goal of being ranked first. That had been his last chance of gaining 'status' among the nobles…

…until tonight.

He wouldn't risk losing this one chance because of a dare gone wrong. Slowly, he tugged his dagger free from its sheathe as he asked, "And who are you to question the Church's diktats?"

"Louis!" the woman to Walter's left chided even as Will exclaimed, "That's enough!" restraining his son's hand. "You may be a knight, but you have no right to be rude to our guests especially if they're the friends of our kin."

"Kin?" Louis pushed his father's hand away as he abruptly stood up from the table. "You acknowledge them as our kin?" he shouted angrily, motioning to Ramza and the others as he glared at his father. "They're nothing but criminals! What would the nobles think if they found out that we were harboring heretics in our home?"

Will frowned, knowing where this was leading them. They had this conversation before, when his son would argue that they needed to take their place in society if the nobles were to accept them. Unfortunately, such arguments had always ended in an impasse.

"This wasn't our home to begin with," Louis' older brother refuted softly, his small hands clutching his cup as he looked down into its depths.

Unlike his knight brother, who was quick to temper given of his profession, Thomas Ruglia was calm and intelligent. Given to study rather than swordplay, he had the makings of a scholar.

Thomas then gazed up at his brother, his eyes penetrating, as if he saw his deepest desire written in his heart. "You should be thankful to them, brother," he said with the patience of one who was explaining something to a child. "Without their father—our grand-uncle—you wouldn't have been able to attend the academy much less be a knight right now. We wouldn't be living here in this grand mansion nor less be the nobles we are today. Where would we be now if our grand-aunt did not know the great lord, the great _General_?" He stressed the word, knowing his brother had always admired Balbanes Beoulve, having heard his many exploits at the academy and imparting those stories to him when he would return home to visit.

"He is our kin and they," Thomas gestured towards Ramza and Alma, "his children. Would you dishonor his name—_their_ name—by arresting them?"

Louis scowled. His brother knew him too well it seemed as he reluctantly sat back down. "Forgive me," he muttered, trying to regain some sense of formality. "My current status led me to overlook grand-uncle's generosity."

The stranger smiled, dismissing the incident with a wave of his hand. "It's quite all right really. I did not take offense and knowing that you are a knight will make our task much easier, I think." He glanced across at Ramza, who nodded in agreement.

"What do you mean?" the knight inquired, seeing the brief exchange between the two men. "What is this task?"

"Yes," inserted Will thoughtfully. "You mentioned heading to Igros Castle. What sort of business do you have there? Certainly, you don't plan on turning yourselves in, are you?"

The stranger snorted. "It will defeat the purpose of our coming here. No, no…" He shook his head before taking a sip of his drink. "Our mission is far too important for us to get caught now."

"Explain," Thomas urged coolly, leaning his head against his hand as he twirled his goblet in the other, his eyes reflecting the sparkle of the vessel as it caught the light of a nearby candle.

"Let's begin by answering your brother's earlier question," the stranger began. "Who am I to question the Church's diktats? Well," he smiled grimly, "I'm glad you're all sitting because this may come as a shock." He took a deep breath before continuing:

"I am Delita Hyral, the rightful ruler of Ivalice."

There was a mixture of responses from the Ruglia family. Will and Louis gazed at him in shock while the woman could only shake her head in disbelief. There was a loud clang as Thomas dropped his goblet, spilt wine spreading across the linen cloth like a great bloodstain, his cool facade now matching those of his father and brother. Only Lord Ruglia seemed to be unaffected by the announcement as he nodded in acknowledgment.

"I thought you looked familiar," he said, bringing everyone from their shock. "Hyral. Jonathan Hyral. You must be his son."

"I am," Delita nodded. "You knew my father?"

"A fine chocobo breeder, if ever I saw one," Walter replied. "It was most unfortunate that both your parents were taken by the plague."

"Wait a minute!" Louis interrupted before Delita could affect a response. "I also know the name of Delita Hyral. It is written in our history books that he ended the Lion War twenty years ago, but there was no mention of him being the son of a chocobo breeder."

Delita smiled, amused at the fact. "I'm not surprised. They wouldn't want the people to know that a commoner became king." He then scratched his nose, his expression thoughtful. "Out of curiosity, what do the people know about me?"

"Delita Hyral, a knight of the Black Sheep under Baron Grims, rescued Princess Ovelia from the Hokuten and brought her to safety at Zeltennia among the Nanten. As the Lion War escalated, he was given command of the Nanten Knights, where he led them to victory. Later, he married Princess Ovelia to become King, and thus, ended the Lion War only to disappear a few months thereafter," Thomas stated, quoting a passage from one of the many history books he had read during his studies. "You are known as the 'Hero of the Lion War'," he added as he picked up his goblet and hid the stain with a handkerchief.

"Interesting…" Delita mused. "And my origins? Anything about my family?"

"It is written that you had attended Gariland Academy when you were sixteen and became a knight a year after," Thomas replied, refilling his cup. "There is no mention about your birth or your family."

Delita nodded. "I see…" He then shrugged. "As is expected of history. The image of me as a hero is more appealing than that of the son of a chocobo breeder. Wouldn't you agree, Sir Louis?" He grinned at the knight as he tipped his goblet towards him as in salute.

Louis studied him as he drank the contents of his goblet and later refilled it. He didn't seem to be the king he had envisioned while studying at the academy. More like any other ordinary man than a great ruler that was said to have killed ten men with a swing of his sword. "Are you really Delita Hyral, the king of Ivalice?" he inquired, uncertainty edging his words.

Delita heard the doubt and asked grimly, "Do you desire proof?"

Louis shook his head and replied, "Just your word."

"That is the mark of a true and honorable knight," Delita said in approval. "Very well then, Sir Louis. You have my word that I am who I say I am."

Satisfied, the knight said, "Then I am honored to serve you, your majesty. If you would permit me…?"

"We come full circle," remarked Delita with a smile. "As I have said, knowing that you are a knight will make our task much easier."

"You've come to reclaim the throne," Thomas stated in an obvious manner. "And to do that, you need to regain the confidence of the people and the knighthoods. But how can you accomplish such a task when you're in the company of two heretics?"

"Not to mention that you've been gone for twenty years," interposed Will.

"True," Delita agreed. "But there is a way to sway the people and your son shall help me in that matter."

"How?" questioned the knight.

"Tell us, who is currently in command of the Hokuten?" asked Delita. "And who is the ruler of Gallione?"

"Braeden Gallows is our commander," Louis replied and paused briefly as he heard Ramza mutter, "A good man…" before continuing, "and a priest from nearby Murond is in charge of the province, placed there by Prince Clemence's advisor, Father Jaren. I haven't the slightest clue what his name is though."

"Father Michael Thirsk," Thomas again stated matter-of-factly and Louis glared at him from across the table, annoyed by his sagacity, "an old priest that lets Gallione govern itself. You needn't worry about him."

"I'm not worried at all," Delita reassured them with a smile, "knowing that Braeden is commander of the Hokuten."

"Shall I arrange an audience with him tomorrow?" offered the knight and when Delita nodded, asked, "What shall I tell him?"

"Tell him," the monarch grinned at Ramza, "that two fellow cadets from his academy days have come to visit."

* * *

For some reason, morning at Igros Castle was strangely calm whereas the past few days it had seen its share of blustery winds from the western coast, a sure sign of the winter storms approach. Nothing stirred in the streets of the city below and the banners on the walls of the castle hung limp in the dead air. It was as if the world held its breath, waiting for something to happen…

It unnerved Commander Braeden Gallows of the Hokuten as he patrolled the ramparts, wondering why the wind had suddenly stopped this morning. It was uncharacteristic of the weather to change so suddenly, especially when winter was on its way. Unlike most of his knights, he was a superstitious man and he felt that this was an omen, a sign that something significant was about to happen today.

He only wished he knew what.

Unfortunately for him, he learned all-too-soon when he returned to his office. As he was reading some reports, there came a knock on his door. "Who is it?" he inquired sharply.

"Sir Louis Ruglia, Commander," came the reply. "There are some visitors who wish to speak to you. They say that you know them from their academy days."

Braeden was caught unawares by the last remark, wondering who Sir Louis referred to. Certainly, there are a lot of his fellow graduates serving under him, the few others being assigned elsewhere. Perhaps these visitors were the 'few others', who brought news from their appointed provinces. And any news would be a welcome boon to him than sorting through reports.

He called, "Enter!" pushing the stack of reports to the side.

The door opened as Sir Louis—recognizable by his emerald eyes and red hair, bright as a new-picked carrot—ushered in the visitors. As they strode past the door, the commander took their appearance at a glance, noting their attire and weapons, knowing that they pose a threat if they proved to be hostile from the way they carried themselves. These were seasoned fighters, yet he did not recognize any of them, but it seemed they recognized him as two smiled in acknowledgement.

"Welcome," he greeted them formally before motioning to Louis to wait outside. He caught the knight gazing at one of the visitors uncertainly, as if waiting for a reply. The stranger then nodded and Louis left. Again, Braeden found himself wondering who these strangers were to possess such authority to command his own knight.

"Braeden, it's been a while," the visitor then spoke when the door closed behind Louis. "I hope we're not intruding."

"Not at all, Sir…" Braeden's voice trailed off, unsure how to address him. "Who are you, by the way?"

"Perhaps I should say it's been a _long_ while," the guest amended. He then gestured toward some chairs and asked, "May we sit?"

The commander nodded and when they were settled, asked, "Do you want anything to drink? Ale? Wine? Or perhaps some cider to warm your bones? You must have traveled far through the cold to come see me."

"We appreciate the gesture, but we're not for long here," another, who sat next to the spokesperson of the group, replied.

"Then let's begin," Braeden said, all friendliness gone, as he fell back into the formality given of his position. "Who are you and what business do you have with me?"

"It's true what Sir Louis said," the first visitor replied lightly. "Both of us," he pointed to himself and the man sitting next to him, "knew you from our academy days. But as I said, it's been a long while since then, twenty-one years in fact. We've all grown and life continues in its never-ending circle. And life has brought us back here, to our place of beginnings." His voice then grew grim. "What I am about to tell you will shock you, Braeden. I must have your word first that you'll listen before doing anything rash. And knowing you," he smirked, "you act before you think."

Braeden sighed as he shook his head. "You know me too well it seems, sir. You ask for the impossible for I have not changed much since then, but I always keep my word."

The man then nodded, pleased, before turning to look at his partner, who stood up and placed a crystal stone on the commander's desk. Braeden stared at the stone curiously, finding it quite familiar, but could not place where he had seen it. He looked up at the stranger as he resumed his seat, his curious expression still clearly on his face.

"The Zodiac stone, Capricorn," the man explained.

Braeden's eyes widened at the explanation then narrowed as he studied the man more closely. There was only one person who possessed the Holy Stones of Murond, and it wasn't the High Priest Hex. "Ramza…?" he whispered in disbelief, afraid of any eavesdropping and when the man nodded, demanded still in a soft voice, "What are you doing here? Do you know that your life is in danger? Why risk being seen?"

"Why not?" Ramza countered simply with a grin. "Who would recognize me, Braeden? Not even you could see me for who I really am. As Delita said," he gestured to his left where the other man sat, "we've all grown."

"Delita?" Braeden gasped, staring from him to Ramza and back again. It was difficult to believe that two recognized men in history sat before him, very much alive and ready for some action it seems. But what did it portend? Was this meeting among fellow cadets the significant event that he had anticipated upon the wind's calm?

"Unexpected, I know," Delita said, sympathizing with the commander. "I'd received a similar welcoming at Zeltennia, but you are the only one, besides the Ruglias, to know that Ramza has returned to Ivalice." He did not mention Orlandu and the others who also knew of Ramza's return, keeping them safe from scrutiny for the time being. He deemed it safer this way to avoid any complications that may arise in the near future. "I hope you will keep it a secret between us. As to my own return," he grinned, white teeth flashing through his dense beard, "you should know."

Braeden did not share his enthusiasm, however, frowning at the notion. "I'm afraid you come a little too late, your ma—"

"Please, Delita is fine, Braeden," Delita interrupted. "We speak as friends, nothing more."

"Delita," Braeden quickly corrected, his frown slightly softening, before he continued. "Though many people yearn for a king, many believe you dead. Why? Why did you leave Ivalice only to return now?"

"Because of me," a third of the party—a young man sitting behind and to the left of Delita—replied and Braeden gazed at him, frowning a question. "I am Raizen Hyral," the man explained.

"My son and your Prince," Delita added. The Hokuten Commander was about to question him further, desiring an explanation of the Prince's existence for there had been no news of a birth and Queen Ovelia had passed away so suddenly after the Lion War that the thought of she bearing a child before then was a bit dubious.

But he did not receive the explanation he sought as Ramza said, "I'm sorry, Braeden, but we do not have the luxury of time to explain everything. Even as we speak, various provinces are already on the move. The Nanten has joined our cause and soon the Tempest will, too. Now we seek the Hokuten to aid us in regaining control back to the people and to give them their rightful king."

"And the Aegis?" questioned the commander. "What of them?"

"Reuel has promised me that he would persuade them to join us," Delita answered. "If they are loyal to Ivalice and her people, then you needn't worry about them. But if they're not…" He then shrugged indifferently. "Well, we'll just leave it at that. I don't want them as enemies, but if they prove difficult, there's nothing we could do about it. The same could be said of you, Braeden." His voice grew sharp. "The choice is yours, but know this, I _will_ regain the throne and restore peace to Ivalice. I swear it on my dead wife's grave."

Braeden Gallows held no doubt that his friend would honor that oath. But he wondered if he could honor their friendship, and his duty. "You present me an interesting decision and a difficult one by all means."

"It is not so difficult if you think about it," Ramza assured him. "I know you'll make the right choice, Braeden. You always had a sharp mind and a kind heart."

"Such faith in me…" the commander murmured, touched by the sentiment. "Even after all these years…"

Ramza nodded. "To lose faith in you is to lose a friend," he stated softly as he stood from his chair, the others following suit, a sign that the meeting was at an end. "The stone is yours to keep, Commander. What you do with it is totally up to you. Show it as a sign to the people to unite and fight or," he shrugged, "return it to the Church and become our enemies."

"Those are my choices?" Braeden inquired, staring pensively at the stone on his desk.

"What other choice do you have?" returned Delita curiously.

"To turn a blind eye," was the simple response as he gazed at the two men. "To forget that this meeting ever occurred and continue on as if nothing happened."

"But, of course, you wouldn't do that." Ramza grinned shrewdly, and when Braeden returned the smile, he knew the faith that he placed on his friend was not in vain. He then ducked his head in farewell. "Good day, Commander Braeden Gallows. May good fortune smile upon you."

"And unto you, Ramza Beoulve." Braeden stood up and offered his hand and Ramza took it, as the commander finished the formal farewell: "May we see each other again, be it in battlefield or in paradise."

Soon after the group left, Braeden resumed his seat. He stared at the stone, his face passive, completely hiding the war waging in his mind as he thought back on the things that were said during the meeting. Dare he defy the Church that had ruled them for fifteen years? Dare he risk his life and the lives of his men to follow the duty sworn to them?

"Perhaps now is the time to fulfill that duty," he murmured as he grabbed the stone and held it to the light.

The wind blew through his window once again, a refreshing breeze that foretold a promising future.

* * *

Almost a week had gone by since Andrew and his party, including Ramia and Galvin, had arrived at the Imperial Capital—two weeks since he had left Limberry. Besides their little meeting with Jaren on the day of their arrival, when they learned that troops from Lionel have already been dispatched to Zeltennia and where Andrew had been ordered to keep his knights in reserve, the days had passed uneventfully.

Andrew wondered, as he walked among the corridors of Oaks Keep, how his son fared at Limberry. He had sent a letter to Alex the next day after his meeting with Jaren, informing him of what took place in the capital and his order to keep the Aegis knights in reserve. He had also written that he would be staying at Lesalia until he deemed it was safe—both for himself and for Ramia and Galvin—to return home. In light of current events, he felt helpless as he played this waiting game with the priest, anxious to hear any news, whether it be from the capital or from the gardeners themselves.

As he passed a window that overlooked the main road heading south out of Lesalia, a brief glance told him that something was amiss. He stopped and looked out, closely studying the road. His eyesight wasn't what it used to be, but he knew a courier when he saw one. The rider was running full tilt along the muddy path, their chocobo near exhaustion, its feathers drooping. He watched as they passed through the city's southern gate with not so much as a scrutiny and he knew then that the news he had been anxious to hear, in one form or another, has finally arrived.

* * *

The rider approached the gates of the royal palace with shoulders slumped, his stance indicative of too many days in the saddle. Soldiers came out to greet the rider as he came through, reaching to help him from the saddle. He shook his head, waving them back as he kicked clear of the stirrups and swung to the ground. His legs trembled then and he clutched at his saddlehorn for support, pushing himself upright as he said, "I bear a message for Father Jaren. It's imperative I see him."

Sensing the rider's urgency, one of the soldiers complied, saying, "I will bring you to him."

The rider straightened his soiled scarlet cloak, adjusting the hang so that the golden cross emblazoned on the thick material was spread for all to see. "Lead on," he nodded.

The soldier set off across the courtyard, studying the man as he turned to lead the way through a door and up a winding stairwell that brought them to the labyrinthine interior of the palace. "You have traveled far?"

"From Igros to Murond," the rider grunted, "then to here."

"A hard road," the soldier murmured sympathetically. The rider merely nodded.

The soldier halted outside a carven door and tapped three times. A voice granted entry and he thrust the door open, seeing Father Jaren seated at his desk and his aide, the Divine Knight Tomas Varyn, to the side, standing near a cheerful fire.

"Milord!" the rider greeted before the soldier could announce him, ushering himself into the room. "I bring terrible news!"

"What news?" Jaren's head was cocked to the side like a crow's; he seemed not much disturbed.

"Igros Castle is in upheaval!" the rider exclaimed. "Our Shrine Knights are having some difficulty controlling the Hokuten and the city's citizens. Father Michael has already requested aid from Murond, but he's afraid that won't be enough to quell this rebellion."

Jaren nodded slowly, his eyes thoughtful, assessing the situation. He could not deploy more Shrine Knights; they were already engaged at Bervenia. The Church's resources are running thin now with Murond aiding Thirsk at Igros. He then remembered his brief meeting with Lord Birch and how he had ordered his knights on reserve just in case those Shrine Knights fighting at Bervenia needed the extra help. Perhaps he could do the same to the Tempest Knights at Riovanes, ordering them to aid those at Igros. But the idea was soon abandoned as the door opened and another messenger came in, looking as equally weary as the first, and as urgent.

"Milord, we've lost hold of Riovanes!"

Jaren's eyes grew cold at that declaration as he heard Tomas mutter, "Fovoham, too?" apparent disbelief in his voice. "How could this be?"

_How could this be?_, the priest repeated the thought darkly.

"Fovoham is not lost to us yet," the second rider declared. "We're planning a last stand at Yardow, but we need reinforcements if we are to hold the fort city."

"Which we are lacking," the Divine Knight muttered. "Shall we employ Limberry's aid?" He turned to the priest, who thought on the idea a moment, before shaking his head in negation.

"No. By the time word reaches Limberry, Yardow may already be lost to us."

"Then what?" Tomas demanded.

"An alternative." Jaren turned to the two riders. "Who's leading these rebellions? Were the heretics' hands detected in this?"

The first rider immediately shook his head, but the second seemed to hesitate for a moment before answering: "Perhaps… There's no way to know for certain, especially when age render their countenance different from when we started hunting them. But…"

"Yes?" Jaren goaded the rider impatiently.

"There are some rumors that the rebellion was started by the assassination group, Kamyuja," the rider continued a bit uncertainly. "As we all know, the Kamyuja was disbanded shortly after the death of the Grand Duke. And according to the Durai Report, the heretics Malak and Rafa Galthana were a part of that group." He then shrugged. "Maybe they had a hand in reviving the group."

"It's quite possible." Jaren folded his hands as if about to pray, but instead tapped fingers against his pursed lips. "This may be the chance I've been waiting for." He then offered the rider a thin-lipped smile, coming to a decision. "You shall have your reinforcements in two days. You shall wait for them, no doubt."

"Yes, Milord," the rider nodded, "and thank you."

Jaren nodded, then: "You must be weary. I shall have a servant escort you to your quarters." He waved to Tomas, who flung the door open and shouted for a servant. When the rider left, escorted down the corridor by the servant, he closed the door and turned to Jaren, who was addressing the rider from Igros.

"As for you," Jaren said, "I'm afraid you have to wait a bit longer. Once Fovoham is secured, I will send the knights required. For now, however, I will send my own personal aide to help you."

That caught the Divine Knight's attention. He straightened as Jaren gestured towards him.

The rider turned to regard him as Jaren explained, "A skilled Divine Knight and quite the tactician. He shall be a great asset in your fight against the rebels."

The rider nodded, pleased. He offered his hand towards the Divine Knight as he said, "An honor, Sir…"

"Tomas," the Divine Knight supplied as he took the rider's hand. "Tomas Varyn." After the simple introduction, Tomas turned to the priest. "By your leave, Your Eminence, I shall make the necessary preparations for my departure."

Jaren nodded. "In good time, in good time… But first," he motioned towards the rider, "escort our weary friend here to his quarters. He will wish to rest, no doubt, and eat. After, summon Lord Gyle and Lady Ramia to attend me. We need to take care of the reinforcements to Yardow."

Acting the obedient servant, Tomas complied, "As you wish, Your Excellency," before escorting the rider out of the room. But he wondered, as he led the way down the corridor, what Jaren had made of the second rider's account of the rumor that the heretics may have started the rebellion at Riovanes and what it portended for Lady Ramia.

Just as the letter he bore to Bethla Garrison after her visit to the priest, he felt this summoning bode ill for the young Holy Knight.

* * *

A slight frown of confusion wrinkled Ramia's brow as she followed Sir Tomas through ill-lit passages, bypassing the main corridor that led to the audience chamber where meetings with Father Jaren usually took place, before arriving at a carved cedarn door. The Divine Knight thrust the portal aside and ushered her in as he announced, "Lady Ramia, as requested, Milord."

Jaren smiled at the announcement as he watched Ramia enter. "Welcome, Lady Ramia. Thank you for answering my summon." He motioned to Tomas that he could leave.

"Yes, of course," Ramia nodded as the door closed. "But why have…you…"

The question died on her lips when she noticed a man standing to the side, wearing an amused expression—a knight she knew too well.

"What are you doing here?" she growled in anger.

Gyle merely shrugged as he answered, "I'm here to find out." Then, with that same amused expression, he turned to Jaren as he asked, "Milord, care to explain why you have summoned us? Lady Ramia and I bear no love for each other and I find it curious that we should be summoned together."

"These are troubled times, Lord Gyle," Jaren explained. "I summoned the both of you because I trust that your leadership qualities could help me rectify a problem."

"What is it, Milord?" Ramia demanded, eager to attest to the knight besides her of the leadership qualities Father Jaren saw in her. If there was really a problem that troubled the priest, then she would do anything in her power to solve it.

"I have received startling news regarding the other provinces." Jaren stared at them gravely, his hands folded within the voluminous sleeves of his robe. "It seems not only Zeltennia is in an uproar, but Fovoham and Gallione as well. Here is the situation." He motioned to the two knights to come closer before pointing to a map spread across his desk.

"As you know, I have dispatched Lionel troops to Bervenia." He pointed to Lionel Castle, a thin finger tracing the path to Bervenia. "Murond," he then tapped a small island to the south of Gallione, "has sent its knights to Igros," he finished by tapping a symbol of a castle slightly to the northwest of the island. "That only leaves Fovoham unaided." He gestured to the province north of Gallione before withdrawing his hands back into his sleeves. "The question is who should I send as reinforcements?" He gazed at them speculatively, his bird-bright eyes already revealing the answer.

"Are you suggesting we are the reinforcements?" Ramia questioned.

"Not quite," Jaren shook his head, "but you are close to the mark." He again waved at the map. "Even though I have Limberry's promise of aid, it would take at least a week for word to arrive there, then a couple of days for the army to get ready before marching to Fovoham's aid, which would take about another week. Two weeks would be wasted and probably for naught for Fovoham could be lost during that time. What we need are knights that would be ready to march in two days, knights that are closer to Fovoham, knights—"

"—that are stationed here in Lesalia," Gyle finished, his gaze fixed at the map, as he tapped his chin. "I think I see now… If I'm not mistaken," he raised thoughtful eyes to the priest, "you want us to use our leadership skills to lead the order."

"Which have been without a commander since Lord Oaks," Jaren nodded.

"I'll gladly take his place!" Gyle stated proudly, as Ramia glared at him in contempt. "There is no better candidate than I!"

"Perhaps," murmured Jaren, "but you forget that I have also invited Lady Ramia and she has a good a chance as you in becoming commander. Her lineage makes her the perfect candidate even."

Ramia grinned smugly at Gyle as he seemed to deflate at the suggestion, his ego having been punctured by it. "Her mother is a heretic," he argued, hoping that would put Ramia at a disadvantage for the position. "Certainly, you must take that into consideration."

"I have," Jaren replied calmly, unperturbed by the challenge. "If I were to appoint Lady Ramia as commander, there is the possibility that her mother would be set free."

As Gyle demanded to know why, Ramia just stared blankly ahead in complete shock. Her father had been right in suggesting returning here. She could do more good here than staying at Bethla and if becoming commander of the St. Konoe Knights was the way to free her mother then she would gladly take the mantle.

"A chance," she heard Jaren answer Gyle's question. "A chance to redeem herself and her family."

"Explain!" Gyle fumed, seeing that his chance of becoming St. Konoe's commanding officer was slipping away.

"There's been news that the rebellion at Fovoham was caused by the heretics."

The information brought fresh anger to Ramia. To learn that the heretics responsible for Agrias' imprisonment and the dishonor brought upon her family were a few days away gave her some cause for excitement, clenching the hilt of her sword, her eyes burning fiercely with anticipation. Finally, she would face those that had wronged her, that had tainted her mother with lies.

Jaren studied Ramia, pleased with her reaction. _This is going well than I had hoped._ "Lady Ramia, I will absolve your mother of all charges in exchange for their capture. How does that sound?"

Before Ramia could reply, Gyle asked, "And what of the leadership of the knights?"

"If Lady Ramia considers and agrees to the arrangement, leadership shall go to her." Jaren smiled as he reiterated, "A chance, Lord Gyle." He then turned to Ramia, still smiling as he asked kindly, "What say you, Lady Ramia?"

Ramia straightened as her heart was overcome with emotion. Her mother would be free of that filthy place and she could finally return home. Capturing the heretics would be a task she would very much enjoy. _Grandfather, I see the way_, she thought as she replied, "Consider it done, Milord!" enthusiastically.

Jaren nodded in approval as Gyle sputtered in denial. "I will not allow it!" he seethed through clenched teeth. "I will not follow the orders of a girl whose wanton mother willingly shared her bed with a vagrant!"

Ramia held her temper in check with some difficulty. "You dare insult my mother?" she threatened softly, her eyes glaring dangerously.

Gyle sneered. "Yes," then added almost casually, "the bitch."

Temper flared then as Ramia lunged forward, enraged, her sword almost out of its scabbard when Jaren shouted:

"Lady Ramia, stay your sword!"

Ramia froze, still gripping her sword as she continued to glare at Gyle, whose smile seemed to her triumphant.

Jaren sighed as he stood from his desk and walked around to put a placating hand on Ramia's sword arm. "I did not invite you to attack Lord Gyle, Lady Ramia" he said quietly. Gyle's smile seemed to grow wider at the reprimand, but faded when Jaren glowered at him as he added, "Nor to trade insults," coldly.

He then removed his hand from Ramia's arm, as she grudgingly sheathed her sword, but remained standing, arms folded into voluminous sleeves once again. "As I have stated in the beginning of this meeting, I have invited you because I believe that your leadership qualities could rectify a problem. Good leaders need to cooperate with one another if they are to be successful in their missions." Gyle was about to give another retort, but Jaren stayed him with a raise of his hand. "Even though Ramia is the chosen commander," he continued, "that doesn't mean that your abilities are ignored, Lord Gyle. Lady Ramia is inexperienced when it comes to warfare—"

"And that's why I should be the one to lead them!" Gyle spluttered. "I—"

"Silence!" Jaren's harsh order brought Gyle's argument to a quick close, the knight immediately snapping his mouth shut. "I grow tired of your whining, Lord Gyle. Now, if you would allow me to finish…?" He gazed sharply at the frustrated knight, who muttered an apology, submitting to his authority.

"Thank you." The priest's voice was cold, edged with a small amount of menace. "Lady Ramia would need an experienced knight to counsel her in battle tactics, someone who could serve as her second-in-command. A knight who had fought both in the Fifty Year War and the Lion War, a knight whose leadership qualities equals that of the commander, a knight such as yourself, Lord Gyle."

Now it was Gyle's turn to stare blankly ahead in complete shock. If he couldn't be the commander, being second was just as good, especially if he was to "counsel" the young upstart. Perhaps this meeting wasn't in vain after all. He smiled at the thought.

Ramia, however, detested the arrangement as much as she detested the knight. "Milord, there has to be someone else who is more capable of the position," she protested. "Not that I'm denying Lord Gyle's," she gave the knight a mocking smile, "competence."

"I'm sorry, Lady Ramia," the priest apologized as he shook his head, "but I deem you two are the most able candidates in the order. Even if the roles were reversed, the outcome would still be the same. Please, you must drop your dislike for each other if you are to be successful in the upcoming battles at Fovoham. Failure is not an option when dealing with the heretics." He then smiled. "I have complete faith in the both of you."

Gyle returned the smile as Ramia scowled. "Very well, Milord," she said forcefully, trying to hide her disappointment…and her dislike. "I will tolerate Lord Gyle's company for the good of the country."

_And for the good of my mother._

"Spoken like a true commander," Jaren praised. "You do your grandfather proud." He then picked an object from his desk and extended it towards Ramia. "Your badge of rank," he explained as the Holy Knight took it. "You will need it as proof of your newfound title when you announce that the Order of St. Konoe has a commander once more."

"Thank you, Milord." Ramia was nearly overcome with joy as she stared at the badge—the same badge she had seen her grandfather wore so many times with his cape, save it was missing the family's insignia above the carved tripartite crown. She wondered whose family's insignia should be engraved there: Birch or Oaks?

"I'm sure you are eager to make the announcement and to make the necessary preparations for the march to Fovoham." Jaren's voice cut through her thoughts and she nodded, more to herself than in agreement with the priest's polite dismissal. The space above the tripartite crown would remain blank for now but, perhaps in time, the wreath of oak leaves would adorn its surface.

_In time…_, she thought as she took her leave.

Gyle made to follow her, but stopped when Jaren called to him: "Lord Gyle, I need to speak with you. We have some other things to discuss that are of great import. I hope you don't mind, Lady Ramia," he added politely to the awaiting Holy Knight, who gave a smug smile at Lord Gyle, hoping that the priest would put him in his place, as she shook her head.

"Not at all, Milord, but I expect him to come to the garrison as soon as you're finished with him"

"Yes, of course," Jaren nodded and Ramia gave Gyle one last mocking smile before leaving the room.

It was tempting to linger, to eavesdrop on the telling off her second-in-command would unquestionably receive, but she was reminded of her orders and her duty when she gazed upon the badge held in her hand. She then clenched it tightly in her grasp, seeking its strength.

"Grandpa, guide me…," she prayed before setting down the corridor towards her destiny.


	20. Encounter

**Chapter Nineteen: Encounter**

"Yardow was built to withstand invasion," Malak stated grimly. "It would take a lot of strength and ingenuity to conquer its walls."

"Which would mean a lot of soldiers that we can't afford to spare," Delita added just as grim.

Almost a week had passed since the battle for Yardow had begun. So far the Shrine Knights, who had escaped from the uprising in Riovanes and had joined the fort city's garrison, were able to repel their efforts.

Unlike Riovanes, where its insurrection had begun _within _its walls and had been somewhat controlled—due to the appearance of a Zodiac stone—as to not harm its citizens, Yardow proved to be quite the opposite. Delita and the others desire to capture the fort city with as little bloodshed as possible, but they were running out of options.

Victory, it seems, would come at a price.

"Then we must focus our attacks at the walls' weakest point, the gate," Ramza advised.

"But it's also the strongest," Orlandu argued. "The gate is wide enough for only one warrior to go through. Once the gate is breached, we can't rush into the city. We'll be picked off one by one by the archers as we pass through, and if we're lucky to survive the arrows, the Shrine Knights' swords would finish the job."

"Point taken," Ramza muttered in defeat then sighed as he shook his head. "It's a stalemate then. Unless we can find a way to rally its citizens to fight, they are left in the dark about our good intentions."

The people of Yardow only knew what the Shrine Knights stationed there tell them as they rarely leave the protection of their city's walls. During this time of struggle, they were locked in their homes, "for their safety" the Shrine Knights called it. If only a few were brave enough to venture out, then they would see the banners of Riovanes and the newly finished banner of Ivalice's sunburst amidst the army that had camped a few miles from their city, showing that they were not the enemy, but an ally trying to restore what once was.

"May I offer a suggestion?" Raizen suddenly voiced after a long, reflective silence.

"Please," Ramza encouraged the young Prince with a tired smile.

Though Raizen had recently fought in his first battle at Riovanes, he had shown an eerie aptitude when it comes to war councils. Not fairly strong in close combat, the young Prince made up for it in tactical planning.

"If we can't go over the walls, why not go through them?" he suggested. "Make our own gate into the city."

"And how do you suppose we accomplish that?" Sir Galyndo questioned, his own voice dubious.

"Cannons," Raizen answered simply. "Your Marines carry them on their ships, designed to sink enemy ships by puncturing holes into their wooden hulls. If they have the power to go through wood, imagine what they could do against a stone wall."

"Of course!" Kristopherson exclaimed, his eyes wide with comprehension. "They could easily tear down those walls!"

"I see…" Delita murmured in thought as he set to rubbing his clean-shaven chin.

With his appearance now eminent, Delita had decided to look as much as the King that had left Ivalice twenty years ago, to reassure his people that he was not dead, but alive and willing to take the throne. Ramza agreed that he certainly did look younger, as if he had gone back in time, to undo all the things he had done in his young adulthood. Perhaps he did so by waging this war.

"Do we have any of those cannons here in camp?" the King asked Sir Galyndo, who shook his head in reply.

"They are still at Riovanes. We never thought of bringing them along and even if we did, they're quite cumbersome to transport. Cannons are heavy things and require at least two chocobos each to haul them."

"Well, their usefulness is now needed," Delita stated. "How long will it take to transport them?"

"Probably three days," the Tempest Knight replied then shrugged as he added, "Four at the most. Shall I send a rider for them?"

"No," Orlandu replied before Delita could voice an answer. "Four days are too long. We must take into consideration the report about Yardow sending for aid. By the time the cannons arrive, we may be outnumbered…and outmatched. We must take the city as soon as able."

"But without the cannons to tear down those walls, we're powerless," Delita argued. "You've already witnessed our efforts in taking the city. Destroying those walls is the key into winning this battle for Yardow."

"I know that, your majesty," Orlandu nodded, "but there might be an alternative," he pointed out, "and it is here in this camp."

"Then out with it, old man!" the King exclaimed, as he pounded a fist on the table, flustered at this prevarication.

Orlandu was unperturbed by the outburst, only staring calmly at Delita, his eyes briefly flashing in warning. He may be getting on in his years, but he still possessed that spark that gave him the title of "Thunder God Cid".

"You may have not heard this," the old knight began as he leaned back in his chair. "The day after we buried Meliadoul at Orbonne, I ordered Mustadio to destroy the monastery. No one should ever suffer in that place again," he added with a sigh before straightening in his chair. "I know my story is hard to believe," he continued, seeing the doubt on the others' faces, "but it's true. Mustadio destroyed the monastery by using some items he had found at the mines in Goug. These items have an explosive force equal to that of a Bomb or a group of Bombs. From that time, he had only five of those items left, but I'm sure he has found a way to replicate them during our long exile. He may be able to bring down those walls with those items."

"Send for him," Delita immediately ordered Malak, not wanting to ponder on the impossibility of the tale. If the Engineer does possess the means of bringing down the walls, then they could probably take Yardow within the next day or two, sooner than waiting for the cannons to arrive from Riovanes.

Pleased with the thought, he casually leaned back on his chair, positioned at the head of the wooden table, facing the entrance of the command tent. To his right, his expression thoughtful, sat his son, to his left, Ramza. Orlandu occupied the seat to Ramza's left, his stark white hair and lined face a contrast to the stern youthful features of the raven-haired Tempest Knight, Kristopherson Galyndo, who faced him across the table.

Delita closed his eyes in contemplation, his face passive. Through the noise of the surrounding camp, he could hear Ramza shift beside him, his leather armor creaking. He could hear fingers drumming softly on the tabletop and the distinctive rustle of a robe.

How long of a time passed, he did not know, but soon he heard the flap of the tent pushed aside and felt cool air brush his cheek. He opened his eyes to see Malak returned accompanied by the Engineer, looking worn but optimistic as usual. "I was told I was needed." Mustadio's voice was cheerful. "What can I do for you, gentlemen?"

Orlandu said, "Mustadio, Prince Raizen has offered a plan that could help us win this battle, a plan to destroy a portion of the wall surrounding the city that is big enough for our soldiers to enter and I told him, as the others present, that you hold the key to executing it successfully. Remember Orbonne?"

"How could I not forget?" Mustadio murmured, his tone becoming dark, as he shook his head, trying to shake off the unpleasant memory.

"Then it's true?" Delita asked. "That you destroyed Orbonne?"

"Yes." Mustadio stared at the King, his cheerfulness gone, replaced by a grimness uncharacteristic of him. "And I could do the same with Yardow's walls."

"How long will it take you to prepare?" This time, it was Raizen who voiced the question.

There was a pause as Mustadio thought, then he said, "A day, I'd think; surely no more than two. I would need to determine at which point of the wall to destroy first then make some calculations on how many dynamite will be needed to destroy it without harming any houses nearby. If I'm not careful, the blast could be powerful enough not only to destroy the wall itself, but the surrounding buildings as well."

"At least it's faster than waiting for the cannons to arrive," Raizen announced before any objections might be raised. "As long as you're careful with your preparations, I see no flaw with the plan. How say the rest of you?"

"It has my support," said Kristopherson, relief in his voice, knowing that he didn't have to send a rider back to Riovanes.

"And mine," added Malak.

"Yes," Ramza said, "it sounds fine. They would be caught by surprise."

"Father?" Raizen prompted. "How say you?"

Delita paused before speaking, then: "I see no problem with it. So yes, I am in accord."

"And I," Orlandu announced. "I had thought to see more days of fighting and I am delighted the young Prince has offered a solution and the Engineer has the means of executing it successfully."

Raizen and Mustadio bowed their heads in acknowledgment.

"So be it," Delita said. "Make your preparations. The battle will resume in two days' time."

There was a murmur of agreement and a scraping of chairs as Orlandu and Kristopherson rose, but before they could take their leave, Wolfen burst in, looking quite alarmed.

"My lords!" he gasped. "Forgive the intrusion, but our spy has returned with some disturbing news." A bird of light-brown feathers on his shoulder twittered madly as it hopped about, flapping its wings, as if trying to convey the gravity of the situation.

"Must be serious," Malak murmured in remark, gazing at the bird's odd behavior.

"It is," Wolfen nodded before snapping at the animal, "Would you stop it already? I'm going to tell them." The bird puffed its feathers as if in indignation, but became silent.

"Well then, let's hear it," urged Delita.

"Of course," Wolfen again nodded. "The reinforcements to Yardow have arrived just now."

"Impossible!" Orlandu exclaimed in disbelief as he abruptly sat back down. "Reports say that Murond has sent its knights to Igros and Lionel to Bervenia. How could they spare enough knights to aid their own in Yardow?"

"Because these knights are not from the Church," Wolfen replied. "According to our spy," the bird chirped cheerfully, puffing its chest in pride, "these troops bear the symbol of a three-pointed crown."

"Lesalia..." Ramza muttered, his eyes troubled.

"What are they doing aiding the Church?" Raizen inquired curiously. "They do not belong there."

"Prince Clemence does not care what Jaren does with his army," Kristopherson explained, retaking his seat more slowly than the old knight across from him. "As long as it pleases the Church."

"The question now is what shall we do?" Orlandu asked. "They are not the enemy and I am loath to fight our own."

"Then we must persuade them that we are not," Delita answered simply, as if it had been obvious from the beginning. "I shall parley with the commander."

"Not alone," added Raizen. "I shall go with you. Perhaps together we could influence their decision in siding with us."

During the exchange, Ramza kept silent, his eyes turned inward in thought. If there was a chance they would engage with the knights of Lesalia, then there was the possibility that she...

"Ramza."

Delita's voice interrupted his musing, and he looked up to see everyone staring at him in concern.

"This news troubles you," Raizen noted.

Ramza smiled thinly. "Many things trouble me, my young Prince, but it's nothing for you, or for anyone, to worry about."

"I think it is something for us to worry about," Orlandu asserted softly, smiling in understanding as Ramza turned to look at him. "You're thinking of her, aren't you?"

The Beoulve did not immediately reply as he looked down at his hands, folded as if in prayer.

Recently, he and the others had learned of her transfer to Lesalia from a Tempest Knight, who, by chance, had visited the Imperial Capital long before Ramza's reentry into Ivalice and had seen the young woman fight in a duel when she was but a squire. The report had shocked them, to learn that she had returned to her place of birth. It seemed only appropriate.

"She is our responsibility." Orlandu gently placed a gnarled hand on Ramza's arm in comfort and support. "We will watch over her during the battle."

"If it comes to that," Ramza murmured.

"If it comes to that," Orlandu amended as he nodded. "We owe Agrias that much at least."

"Yes," Ramza agreed, "we do." He then sighed as he unfolded his hands, laying them flat on the table as he rose from his chair. It seemed that he came to a decision as he looked to Delita and Raizen in determination. "Tomorrow I shall ride with you to Yardow, and even if we fail in convincing the Lesalian knights to join us, we'll have at least one of them on our side. It is the least we could do…" he added somberly as he turned to look at Orlandu, Malak, and Mustadio, all nodding in grim agreement.

* * *

In the waning light, Ramia watched as her men set up camp outside Yardow's walls. Since they were too many for the city to hold, arrangements were made for the knights to camp out.

Her own tent was already set near the city's gate, having refused Troy's—commander of the garrison stationed in Yardow—offer of quarters at the city's barracks. She'd rather stay with her men out in the field than to hide behind walls. Young though she may be, she was willing to prove herself among her men.

The youngest to ever have attained the rank of commander, many were a bit doubtful of her abilities to lead the knighthood. Many had called for Gyle's leadership, but surprisingly, he had refused, humbly giving her his support. Ramia knew then that Father Jaren had spoken with Gyle concerning their differences.

Though still somewhat wary around him, she was grateful for his assistance as he managed the settlement of the troops and later brought word to her that they have settled down.

"Good," Ramia nodded in approval. "Take command, Lord Gyle. I want you to look after the camp in my absence."

"Are you going somewhere, Lady Ramia?" Gyle questioned.

"I have been invited to attend dinner with Commander Troy where I will be apprised of the situation," Ramia explained. "I shall return shortly and brief you on the situation. Perhaps between us we can formulate a plan on how to engage the enemy."

"Very well." Gyle nodded in agreement. "I shall await your return." He then saluted and Ramia returned the gesture before taking her leave, turning away to enter the nearby gate to the city.

The trip to the city garrison was short, the building standing against the city wall, near the gate from whence she entered and took the few steps to the garrison's door, briefly pausing to study the surrounding walls where Shrine Knights stood guard in the watchtowers while others patrolled the ramparts. Torches were being lit as the sun finally disappeared and in their glow, Ramia saw the wounds some bore—some grievous, others minor—and wondered what had happened since the city's siege as she continued on to the garrison where the guard on duty saluted before ushering her to the commander's quarters.

Troy sat at a simple four-legged table, a decanter at his elbow, a glass of—what Ramia presumed to be ale—clutched in his right hand. Torchlight fell slanting across his face, and when he smiled in greeting, Ramia saw lines of weariness drawn across thinned cheeks.

"Your knights are settled?"

Ramia nodded. "Thank you for your concern."

"It is I who should be thanking you." He gestured at the chair in front of him. "Please sit. You'll take ale?" he asked as Ramia sat down, indicating the decanter.

Ramia shook her head. "No, thank you. I prefer some warm cider in this cold weather."

"Ah, yes," Troy nodded, glancing out the window thoughtfully. "Winter is almost upon us…"

"The more so to bring this siege to an end," Ramia pointed out, "before the first snows come."

"I couldn't agree with you more," Troy acknowledged as he reverted his attention back to Ramia. "Now that you and your troops are here, I have no doubt we will end this siege long before then."

"Then tell me of the current situation so that we may find a way to resolve it as soon as possible." Ramia shifted in her seat as to find a comfortable position, knowing the explanation may take the better part of her evening.

"Yes, of course." The garrison commander gulped a measure of ale, as if in preparation for the lengthy report. "It's been nearly a week since the battle began. So far, our walls have sufficiently protected us, our archers having the advantage as they shot the enemy down."

"But not without taking damage themselves," Ramia commented, recalling the wounds she had seen.

"Yes, unfortunately." Troy sighed at the reminder. "Unlike us, they have skilled mages among their ranks. We can't protect ourselves against their magic and our medical supplies are low. We have too many wounded to man the walls."

"Another reason for the reinforcements." Ramia leaned against the back of her chair, her expression pensive. "I shall make arrangements for the wounded to be treated and the walls to be reinforced as soon as our meeting is adjourned."

"Thank you," Troy nodded in gratitude.

"As to engaging the enemy," Ramia continued, "are there any more details you could provide that may be helpful to their defeat?"

Troy emptied his glass and filled it. "I've already told you what I know, Lady Ramia, but there are those who had fought them personally at Riovanes Castle. Perhaps they could provide you with an in-depth report on their tactics."

"I'd speak with them."

"Now, Lady Ramia?" Troy glanced at an hourglass sitting on a shelf over his right shoulder. "It's almost time for dinner. A feast is prepared in honor of your arrival."

Ramia smiled reassuringly. "I did not plan on speaking with them today, Commander. Tomorrow, in the presence of Lord Gyle, where we can plan accordingly and perhaps gauge the enemy's number and strength from a vantage point on the western wall."

"That would be wise," Troy agreed as he stood up and ushered her out of his quarters and into the mess hall.

Little did they know, they would gauge the enemy sooner than expected...

…or as one should put it, the enemy would sooner gauge them.

It was when Ramia and Gyle were listening to the Shrine Knights' report the next day that they received news that a delegation from the enemy camp wished to speak with the Commander of the Lesalian Knights.

"How did they know we're here?" Gyle inquired warily. "Our arrival was not made public and I doubt the enemy has spies within the city."

"I was surprised myself, my lord," Galvin, who had brought the message, replied, trying to hide the aversion in his voice. Like Ramia, he disliked the knight ever since the day he had questioned Lord Oaks' honor. It had been an insult to him and his family and he could not quite forgive him even if he openly supported Ramia.

"Whatever the case, this may be our chance to learn more about our enemy," Ramia stated and Galvin could see the resolve in her eyes, and something else…

A hunger, a desire for retribution.

He realized then that this has become a personal matter to Ramia.

"What do you think, Lord Gyle?" she inquired as she looked up at her second standing besides her.

"That would be the wiser course," he responded calmly, his tone neutral as to not sound patronizing. As second-in-command, his duty was to aid the inexperienced commander, but all he had done was arrange the army's billeting and listen to the Shrine Knights' reports. Ramia seemed quite able to handle military matters herself and he was afraid that his resourcefulness will not be needed. He could not have that especially if he were to carry out Father Jaren's personal order and gain the position as commander in exchange.

He recalled the small conversation he had with the priest after Ramia's appointment as commander, remembered his order perfectly and the promise given if he were to carry it out successfully.

_Make sure Ramia does not return from the battle at Fovoham. Do this, Lord Gyle, and I shall appoint you commander in her place._

He coveted that position, but if things continued on the path they were on now, his dream will not see reality. Somehow, he must find a way to manipulate the young Holy Knight, to turn things into his favor…

"Shall I bring them then?" Galvin's voice brought Gyle from his musing.

"Please," Ramia nodded. "It's time we put a face to our enemy."

* * *

As they were escorted to their promised meeting with the commanding officer of the St. Konoe Knights, Ramza searched the houses, the walls, the streets for a familiar face—a face he had seen for a brief moment at Grog Hill.

But the only familiar face he found was the knight that led them, the one he had seen accompanying her that night that seemed to be a lifetime ago. He wanted to ask him if there was a chance they could meet her after their appointment with the commander, but knew that such a question would only serve to raise suspicion, so he kept silent.

Just as well, for it proved unnecessary when they finally reached a building at the other end of the city, far from any escape if worse comes to worst.

They were quickly brought to a small room with its simple furnishings, the light of the morning sun filtering through the only window to the right of the doorway where someone stood, surveying the walls through the glass, hands held behind their back. An older knight stood behind a long wooden table, gazing at them curiously as their escort announced their arrival.

To which the person facing the window replied: "Thank you, Galvin. You may return to your duties."

As their escort—Galvin—saluted before taking his leave, Ramza looked to the commander, sensing something very peculiar about her.

To know that the commanding knight of Lesalia was a female did not surprise him, it was the fact this woman sounded very young, but then again, he wasn't much older himself when he had led his friends against the Church.

This did not seem to bother Delita as he stepped forward and said, "Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, Commander."

"And what do you plan on accomplishing in this meeting?" she inquired as she turned away from the window to walk to the table where the older knight awaited, her back turned towards them, the light from the window revealing a long braid of golden hair.

Ramza glanced at Delita, who nodded in return. Both men recognized the hairstyle. Agrias had worn her hair in the same manner, unlike most female knights who left their hair down, like Lavian and Alicia. As she calmly sat down behind the table, facing them for the first time, it was hard then to hide their surprise.

"Ramia…!" Ramza gasped as Delita stared in disbelief.

The young woman they had sworn to return with to the others sat before them, a commander of knights. The mission that had seemed straightforward now had become complicated.

Upon hearing her name, Ramia went on the defensive, her eyes narrowing in suspicion as a hand went to the hilt of her sword. She noticed Gyle stepping forward slightly as he demanded, "How is it you know the Commander's name?"

Seeing that his father and Ramza were still in a state of shock, Raizen took it upon himself to answer the knight's query, stepping away from Delita's side to confront the man. "The name of Ramia is well-known in our camp."

"Her name may be known, but that doesn't explain how you could match her name with her face," Gyle refuted.

"Her face," Ramza suddenly inserted, Raizen's answer spluttering into silence, "is the face of her mother."

"My…mother?" Ramia asked with a distinct sense of dejá vu. She looked at Gyle, wondering if he felt the same way. This encounter seemed familiar to the encounter she had with him five years ago when they had first met at the practice ground in Lesalia.

Gyle did feel as if he had gone through this before, his features grim as he studied the group carefully. He thought he knew all of the people Agrias had come into contact with in her life, save for the time she had served as Queen Ovelia's bodyguard…

Were these people then those she had traveled with during that time? He vaguely remembered seeing a squire among their retinue along with a strange boy when they had stopped over at Lesalia for a brief visit. A peculiar bunch for knights to travel with, he had thought, but had given no further notice.

But now he wondered…

If these men had traveled with her during the war, perhaps he could use that information to his advantage.

And used it he did when he said to Ramia, "My lady, I believe I know how these men know your mother."

"You do?" Ramia was slightly surprised at the statement for it had been her next question to the strangers, as it had been that time long ago.

Gyle nodded. "These men may have traveled with your mother during the Lion War. That is how they could recognize you. And if I'm not mistaken, they came here to convince you to side with them as they had persuaded her during the war."

Ramia bristled at this and she glared at the trio. "Is this true?"

"In part," Delita admitted. "We have also come to convince the St. Konoe Knights to join us in our cause."

Ramia snorted derisively. "Then you have just wasted your time, gentlemen. I have no intention in joining your army and I will not allow any of my knights to defect to your side."

"But your duty is to your country and its people!" Delita insisted as he stepped forward, to which Gyle reacted by readying to draw his sword. Delita noticed this and so disciplined himself to calm down. "I thought," he began once more when he had calmed, "that a knight from a very well-respected family would understand that."

Ramia's expression hardened. "My father left before I was even born," her voice was filled with suppressed anger, "my mother imprisoned, and my grandfather murdered. My family was once respected but it was you men and the others who were with you that brought its downfall and I fight to reclaim what was lost." She then waved a nonchalant hand. "Talk all you want, but you'll find that I am not so easy to convince as my mother."

Delita looked to his son, hoping he could offer a fresher argument to this seemingly hopeless debate. Raizen, however, shrugged helplessly. There was so much he could do, but healing one's bitterness was something different.

Delita then turned to Ramza, who shook his head and said, "Enough. We respect your decision, Ramia."

"That's _Lady_ Ramia to you, knave!" Gyle snapped.

"Lady Ramia…" Ramza amended as he bowed his head, a note of sadness in his soft voice. "I'm sorry that you feel that way."

"Don't be," she sneered. "I don't need your sympathy."

Ramza felt as if he had been stabbed between the ribs. He had seen bitterness manifest itself in the form of two female knights, especially in Lavian, but it seemed Ramia personified the very character. And he could not help but blame himself for all of her woes.

"Lord Gyle, please show these men out of the city." Ramia's curt command brought him from his reverie.

"Why?" Gyle inquired, confused. "They have admitted that they were the ones who persuaded your mother, that they are," he paused as he turned to look at the trio, "the _heretics_," he saw one flinch slightly at the label and knew that the assumption was correct, "the Church is looking for. They are the key to your mother's freedom. Will you let them go so easily?"

"I let them go so they could bear my message to the others in their camp," Ramia responded evenly.

"And what is that message?" Raizen asked, wishing in his heart that he could have done more as he had promised at the meeting yesterday.

"That justice has finally caught up with them."

* * *

Rad came to meet them as they rode through camp, his eyes searching as they led their chocobos to a picketed area where they left them to be tended after by the attendants. "I take it the meeting did not go well," he remarked upon seeing their sullen expressions.

Delita nodded. "There's much to explain."

"And much to plan," Ramza added, his voice somewhat subdued as if to hide his pain, which Rad could clearly see in his eyes. Somehow the knight knew there was more at stake at the upcoming battle than just the recovery of the fort city, the recovery of the entire province, and he clasped a supportive hand on Ramza's shoulder.

"Whatever you plan on doing, leader, know that I will follow you, no questions asked."

Ramza smiled his thanks, then said, "We must gather the others. They need to hear this."

"I'll go," Raizen volunteered.

"Find Sir Galyndo as well," Delita yelled after his son as he began to run off. "This also concerns the Tempest Knights."

"I guess I'll go too," Rad said as he began trotting off after the Prince. "He may have some trouble finding the others."

Ramza nodded then sighed as he watched Rad disappear into the camp. "How shall I explain it to them?" he asked Delita.

"You'll find a way," his friend replied reassuringly. "You always do."

Ramza wished he could share his friend's confidence, but he could not forget the anger he had seen in Ramia's eyes nor ignore the hatred he had heard in her voice…

* * *

The command tent had fallen silent after Delita's account of the failed meeting. It unnerved Sir Galyndo as he observed everyone's faces, seeing remorse in some, resolve in others, but what they all had in common was a faith in each other. The Tempest Knight had never seen such a bond of friendship as strong as this group of 'heretics'. They must have shared much during the Lion War to feel the others' pain.

"What are we to do now?" He winced at his own voice, which seemed magnified in such a restrained atmosphere. He didn't want to break the silence, but knowing that doing nothing, reaps nothing, and he needed to know if they were still continuing on with the plan.

"What indeed…" Orlandu murmured as he shook his head. "This is unexpected. I had hoped we would avoid much bloodshed with the joining of the Lesalian order."

"We had hoped too much," Delita said from the head of the table, "or should we say, _assumed_ too much. But bloodshed can still be avoided, _must_ be avoided."

"Then you ask for the impossible," Malak stated from the other end, near the tent's entrance. "Blood will spill when Mustadio destroys those walls."

"Shrine Knights' blood, yes," Delita nodded. "What I meant is to avoid the spilling of Lesalian blood. If we are to continue on towards the capital, I need the swords of every able knight in every knight order. Lesalia is no exception. They must be reminded of their duty."

"But how?" Kristopherson questioned. "From what I understand from your report, your majesty, this…Ramia seems to be angry with all of you."

"And without good reason," Lavian sighed, her eyes sad and weary. Rad set a firm hand on her shoulder, lending his support, and she was glad of it as she took it, seeking comfort in its touch. "She remembers her mother, of that I am glad," she continued, "but it saddens me that we encounter her under such circumstances."

"It saddens all of us, Lavian," Beowulf concurred. "But as Sir Galyndo had put it, what are we to do now? Delita," he looked to the monarch, "you said that we need to avoid the spilling of Lesalian blood. How do you plan on accomplishing that?"

"Sleep," Alicia interjected in her rough voice, which caught everyone's attention.

The knight maiden had become a bit more communicative since Ramza's arrival, but her speech was often clipped and she only spoke when it mattered most, as if she didn't want to waste her breath uttering words. Oftentimes, however, the words she did utter were very cryptic and difficult to interpret.

Such was the case.

"Sleep?" Beowulf repeated, confused. "Are you tired, Alicia? Do you wish to retire?"

The redhead shook her head. "Sleep," she said again, this time pointing at Lavian, who shook her head in turn.

"I'm not sleepy," she said.

Alicia growled, which set the others on edge as hands fingered hilts and stocks alike, afraid that the woman was turning berserk again. But the redhead did not growl in anger, but in frustration for it was difficult to express her thoughts with words.

"Sleep!" she exclaimed, this time holding both of her arms up. "Sleep!"

The others looked to each other, hoping that one of them had an interpretation of what the knight meant, but each shook their heads. Even Lavian was not able to understand what her friend was trying to convey, and she understood her better than the rest. Then suddenly:

"I know!" her son cried out enthusiastically, his hand raised as he jumped up and down in an attempt to gain their attention.

"What is it, Randall?" Lavian implored as she placed a gentle hand on her son's shoulder to calm him.

"Magic, mother," Randall replied and Alicia nodded, uttering, "Sleep!" again as she raised her arms. "Alicia is saying that we should cast a sleep spell on the knights," the young man interpreted afterwards.

"Of course!" Raizen exclaimed in understanding as Orlandu pounded the table, chuckling. The stance Alicia had taken was indicative of a mage casting a spell.

"Easier said than done," Malak inserted bluntly. "We only have a few squadrons of mages against _thousands_ of knights. They'll be vulnerable as they cast their spells."

"A trap then," Ramza suggested without hesitation as he turned to a pile of rolled maps at a side table, searching for a moment, the others waiting in silence. He finally found the map and pulled it from the pile, unrolling it onto the table afterwards where the others could see.

It was a map of the fort city and the surrounding area. "Mustadio, exactly which portion of the wall do you plan on destroying?" he asked, gesturing towards a dark line that indicated the boundary of the city.

"Here." Mustadio pointed at the gate. "It's the weakest point of the wall so it seems sensible to destroy it there. It will be difficult to set the explosives with it being guarded heavily, but it can be done."

Ramza nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful as his eyes roved over the parchment, trying to picture the deployment of knights and mages. "Very well then," he said. "Once the gate has been breached, we will charge into the city," he continued in a determined voice. "I will lead a strike force through the destroyed gate to clear the way for our wizards. Lavian," he looked to the knight mage, "I place you in charge of them."

She nodded in understanding and Ramza continued with the strategy:

"A rank of archers shall hide in the nearby woods, taking out the defenders that remain on the wall. They shall clear the way for Lavian and her unit to secure the wall. Mustadio," this time he turned to the Engineer, "you will lead this unit."

Mustadio understood the responsibility given him and nodded in acceptance.

"Once the wall is secured," Ramza resumed, "Mustadio and my units shall continue to fight until the Lesalian troops will arrive to aid them. The second unit can help us if they wish, but I prefer they wait until Ramia and the others arrive."

"Where they could cast the spell safely," Orlandu murmured, stroking his beard as he reviewed the plan in his mind. "It may work…"

"But what if they arrive before then?" Malak was ever the observant one and Ramza wondered if that had been a result of him leading his people. Before then, the Beoulve had known him as a follower instead of a leader, but in a way he was glad for his sharp mind. It's been twenty years since he had led an army, though small, and he had to admit that he was a bit out of practice.

After giving it much thought, he answered, "Subdue them, but do not kill them. It's the only thing we can do without suffering any casualties on both sides. Wounds can be healed, but the dead can't be raised."

"And the Shrine Knights?" Malak returned.

"Kill them," was Ramza's cold response.

Everyone was taken aback by that simple command; it lacked any compassion, only malice that they have never heard from the Beoulve when it concerned their enemy. He had always shown mercy, giving them quarter whenever they chose to surrender. But it seemed none would be given nor offered.

"The Church has taken enough innocent souls with their lies." He looked at everyone, his gaze piercing as if he was staring into their very souls. "No more."

Blood would be spilled tomorrow…

The day of reckoning.

* * *

The gray light of pre-dawn limned the skyline, a flock of birds taking to the air as they began their hunt for an early meal. All was quiet, and if it weren't for the sight of knights on the walls, one would say it was peaceful.

A Shrine Knight yawned openly, leaning against his spear heavily. He had stood on watch all night and he longed for bed. Once the sun peaked over the horizon, he would finally be relieved from duty. He yawned again as the first ray of light peaked over the horizon and with it oblivion as he was blown from his post by a huge blast that destroyed the western gate and nearby sections of the wall.

Shouts of alarm filled the air as a force of enemy troops rushed the entrance. They were led by a flaxen-haired man in leather wielding two swords, and they had robed wizards with them.

"The gate's been breached!" Gyle burst into Ramia's tent to find her struggling into her armor.

"I heard!" she growled, finally latching the last buckle on her armor. Grabbing sword and shield, she rushed past Gyle to quickly give out orders.

But the attack had come so suddenly that it had caught Ramia unawares, her troops in disarray as they, like she, struggled to quickly equip themselves for battle. Those who were ready—a quarter of the order—stood in attention, awaiting orders.

Nodding in approval at their readiness, she turned to Gyle. "As soon as the others are prepared, lead a few brigades of knights and wizards along the wall," she ordered. She felt strangely composed after the first few moments of surprise, and well aware of the situation, her mind seeing clearly the plan that was beginning to form as she gazed up at the wall. "Perhaps we can use it to our advantage. In the meantime, I will lead these men," she gestured to the readied troops, "to push the enemy back. Hopefully, that will give the Shrine Knights enough time to retrieve their wounded and pull back."

"Agreed," Gyle nodded. "I shall see to the forming of the brigades and join you soon."

"I shall have them this day," Ramia vowed, her eyes shining with purpose as she turned to her troops, which was increasing as more knights joined the ranks. She drew her sword and raised it high, the knight blade catching the sun's rays as it rose steadily higher into the sky. A brilliant flash later, she was charging into the city, yelling out a battle cry.

The others followed her, unsheathing swords and shouting out their own battle cries, a cacophony of war.

The decisive battle for Yardow has begun.

* * *

Ramza briefly admired Mustadio's work as he led the advancing party inside the shattered gate. It was completely destroyed along with most sections of the wall, the knights on guard either buried beneath the rubble or burned by the fiery blast.

The few Shrine Knights, who had escaped the week's past battles intact, were still in disarray after the initial attack and he took advantage of their confusion as he led the charge into their midst, hearing the deadly whistle of arrows from behind as Mustadio's unit began working on the defenders left on the wall.

As Ramza and Mustadio's units continued to wreck havoc on the disorganized Shrine Knights, Lavian carefully led her unit of magicians, which consisted of Ramza's Ordallian friend, Rae, Beowulf, and seven Tempest Magicians, through the gate and decided to split her group into two equal parts, each taking a side of the destroyed gate.

Beowulf led four Tempest Magicians to the southern side of the gate while Lavian took the rest up the northern side, each group carefully climbing to the top as the Shrine Knights began to rain arrows upon them.

Up on a hill further out from the west gate of Yardow, Delita and Raizen sat on chocobos with a few units remaining on standby if they should be needed in the battle. But everything seemed to be going well, as Raizen remarked to his father, observing the battle through Mustadio's invention—the spyglass—marveling at how he could see the encounter clearly as if he was in the midst of it.

He watched as Lavian's unit finally secured the wall, Mustadio's unit having done their task of eliminating the remaining Shrine Knights, and positioned themselves accordingly as they waited for the Lesalian reinforcements to arrive. Mustadio's unit, however, moved into the city to support Ramza's unit as they pushed the enemy back.

"Let me see," Delita said, reaching out a hand to his son, who gave him the spyglass in return. He then peered through it and nodded in approval at what he saw. "Everything is as Ramza has predicted," he commented as he continued to survey the battle from afar.

Despite the enemy having the greater numbers, they were sorely hard pressed as both Ramza and Mustadio's units kept the offensive. Flashes of lightning rained down from the sky from Orlandu's Lightning Stab even as bodies flew everywhere as Draven and Alicia's berserk states lend them the strength of a hundred knights combined.

Then he saw them.

A great wave of swords and armor, the metal glinting in the mid-morning sun, rushed towards the battle, and in their midst he recognized the standard of Lesalia.

Delita lowered the spyglass, his expression solemn. "They come."

* * *

They outnumbered their enemies, yet they were fighting a losing battle. Troy ordered his men to hold the line until reinforcements would arrive. But it seemed hopeless as he watched more of his knights fall to either sword or arrow. Two of his enemies were especially merciless, chopping into his ranks as if scything through a wheat field.

Then he heard them.

The Shrine Knight Commander briefly looked back and saw that the reinforcements have finally arrived. "Stand firm, men!" he ordered, hope renewed at the sight of their allies. "Our allies have arrived!"

At that declaration, the Shrine Knights began to fight with renewed vigor, confident now that they would win this battle when just moments before they were ready to surrender.

Likewise, Ramza and Mustadio's parties pushed the attack even as Lavian's group readied themselves to cast the sleep spell on the approaching reinforcements. But as the Lesalian army edged closer to the front lines, both units slowly retreated until the Lesalian troop burst through the lines, Ramia leading the charge.

"Back! Fall back!" commanded Ramza and both units made a full retreat, leading the charging army within range of the spell.

"Don't let them escape!" Ramia roared, rushing headlong, eager to do battle and to win back her mother's freedom. The St. Konoe Knights followed her willingly, the Shrine Knights joining within their ranks, all unsuspecting of the trap set for them, the thought of victory blinding them.

Lavian watched as the army came within range and she gave the signal. As one, her unit began to cast the sleep spell.

Ramia realized too late that she had brought themselves into a trap, watching as one by one her men slowly fell to the ground fast asleep. Some were stubborn, however, fighting droopy eyes and yawning mouths as they continued the charge. But they, too, soon fell to the spell and she was left alone, the ground around her littered with snoring knights.

She was the only one left that stood between victory and defeat.

"Cowards!" she shouted defiantly at her enemies even as she wondered how she had escaped the spell's grasp. "You dare resort to sorcery?"

"We dare to prevent unwanted bloodshed," one of them answered as he walked forward slowly to stand facing her, alone and armed.

"You!" she hissed as she recognized one of the men she had met yesterday.

He nodded. "I am Ramza Beoulve. I am the one you seek."

"Ramza Beoulve?" Ramia repeated in shock. "_The_ heretic Ramza Beoulve?"

At long last, she found the source of her family's suffering. She could finally end it here today and fulfill her grandfather's wish. With the death—not capture, for he wasn't worth capturing—of the heretic, there would be no doubt that Father Jaren would honor his promise of releasing Agrias.

Ramia angled her sword in accusation. "You are the one!" Then, with an earsplitting shout, charged forward, sword lifted high to cleave Ramza's unprotected skull.

The knightsword moved with appalling speed, slashing down as Ramza sidestepped, hacking his own sword—flat side of the blade as to soften the blow—at the Holy Knight's midriff, seeking to strike where the breastplate ended. He saw her shield move as though propelled of its own volition to block his cut, and felt his wrist throb with the impact of the blow. He danced back as Ramia's sword sang round, slashing at his throat, feeling the wind of its passage rustle past his face, and turned his blade, aiming for the underside of the forearm.

Again the shield turned his cut, smashing his sword arm up, crashing against his chest so that he was driven back, struggling to maintain his balance as Ramia turned with deadly speed to send a reverse stroke hacking at his side. The steel caught his armor, numbing his ribs, and he spun round, letting himself be driven towards a house, looking for an opening as the Holy Knight's blade darted and wove before him.

He backed away, fighting on the defensive as Ramia bellowed a battle cry and charged afresh, her hazel eyes glinting in anticipation of victory. They darkened, however, as Ramza countered the attack, as if he had expected it, merely parrying her thrust with a tap, her momentum driving her forward so that she barely had time to block his next attack, grimacing as she felt the flat side of his blade slap against her exposed back.

Ramia quickly turned, anger welling in her eyes at the taunt, but Ramza stood patiently, his eyes showing no delight in this duel, but a kind of sadness.

_Regret?_, Ramia thought as she charged again. _Yes. You shall regret everything you've done!_

And into her mind came a vision of the lash descending again and again against her mother's back, heard the taunts of the other knights, watched as her grandfather died in her arms, and beheld the withered form of the once proud Holy Knight that was her mother sitting in a dank cell. Of all the suffering she and her family went through…

All because of this one man.

"I'll make you regret everything!" she yelled, those past images fresh in her mind, lending her strength and purpose, as she commenced her attack with a fury of blows, slashing and hacking at Ramza's head and ribs, moving around the confined space of the city, oblivious of the onlookers.

Ramza knew that it must end. He allowed her to continue forcing him back, circling the entrance yard of the city, defending himself, no longer seeking to attack.

"Why do you not attack me?" Ramia demanded, hoping to coax her enemy to fight back as to find an opening in his defense.

"Because I do not wish to fight you, Ramia," Ramza replied, his blades dancing before him as he deflected and blocked Ramia's blows. "I do not wish to hurt you."

Ramia snorted then and swung her sword in a great arc. "Hurt me? You've done more than 'hurt' me." The knightsword sent sparks as it slashed against the stone wall of the city. "You are the cause of my pain and my suffering and I shall end it all today by taking your head!"

Ramza knew it was time and he acted as though in desperation, hoping to end Ramia's misguided mission in one blow for she was right. All will end today, but it would not end with him losing his head, as he ducked and stepped inside Ramia's swing, at the same time ramming the pommel of his sword into her belly.

Ramia gasped, staggering back at the blow before falling to her knees as she tried to catch her breath.

Ramza stood above her, calm, as silence filled the city. "No more," he said. "I will not fight you anymore, Ramia, only ask for your surrender."

"Never," she growled between breaths as she looked up at him in hatred. "I'll never surrender, not while I live." She struggled to rise, but that blow did more than just winded her, and she fell back to one knee, grimacing, not in pain but in defeat. The duel had drained her of her strength and for the first time in her life she felt very vulnerable.

"Then you leave me no choice," Ramza returned as he raised his sword.

Ramia saw the sword rising above her, watched it arc upward. She did not flinch, only glared at her enemy, angry at him and angry at herself that she had failed. She had failed to grant her grandfather's wish and she had failed her mother. All the struggles she'd been through had been for naught.

All because of this one man.

The sword flashed when it reached its zenith, catching the sun's light, and she closed her eyes, waiting for the deathblow, praying that she would be forgiven in the afterlife. She did not see the sword descend, did not see the pity in her enemy's eyes, only felt a sharp pain at the back of her head before oblivion claimed her.

"I'm sorry, Ramia…" Ramza murmured as he gazed at her slumped form. "You left me no choice."

A trumpet call pierced the air, a mournful song echoing through the city like a wailing ghost, sounding the retreat as Gyle took the rest of his knights from the city, leaving Ramia behind, fulfilling his order to the priest.

And as they left, the first snows began to fall.

Winter has arrived.


	21. Tangled Mind

**Chapter Twenty: Tangled Mind**

Jaren was pleased—_very_ pleased—at the report, smiling his thin-lipped smile as he drummed his fingers together in delight. "Splendid! Splendid indeed! You've done well, Lord Gyle."

"Thank you, Milord," the knight returned as he bowed. "It's my pleasure to serve you."

"And served me well you did," Jaren nodded in agreement. "Now as promised," he flourished a crest engraved with the tripartite crown, "the emblem of your newfound rank as Commander of Lesalia's St. Konoe Knights."

Gyle's eyes shone bright as he accepted his reward and regarded it with triumph as he turned it in the light of a torch.

Finally, the position he had craved since Lord Oaks' resignation was his and all he had to do was betray the late commander's granddaughter. How ironic...and fitting.

It was the perfect repayment for the insult dealt him five years ago. He had looked the fool then, to be beaten by a mere girl, but now...

He gazed at the badge as he smirked.

Look who's the fool now.

Gyle gripped the crest tightly as he turned to the priest. "I thank you again, Milord."

"You've earned it." Jaren's smile grew wider, his dark eyes glinting furtively. "You've done me a great service."

"Milord?" Gyle looked at the priest quizzically, wondering what he meant.

Jaren tapped his chin, still wearing that enigmatic smile, muttering, "Everything is going as planned," ignoring Gyle's inquisitive stare. "The bait is set. All that is needed is for the trap to be sprung." He then chuckled. "Those heretics are as good as mine."

"Milord?" Gyle pressed again. "May I inquire as to what you are talking about?"

"You'll find out soon enough," Jaren answered simply as a child hiding a big secret, "for you shall have a part in it."

"Milord!" Gyle stood erect in attention. "I am in your service. If not for you, I wouldn't be leader of the Lesalian knighthood."

Jaren nodded in approval before standing from his desk. "I'm glad for your loyalty, Lord Gyle. Such is lacking in knights these days."

Gyle frowned, knowing what he referred. He had heard the reports of the other knighthoods in the kingdom rising in rebellion, had seen those very knights during his brief stay at Yardow. He scoffed at their actions, and yet, he wondered what had made them act after many years of idleness.

As these thoughts passed through the knight's mind, Jaren reached to the dipper of the jug set beside the hearth and filled a mug with mulled wine. He took a sip, savoring the flavor, before turning again to regard the knight.

Who said, "Such knights are a disgrace. They have forgotten their oath, but I assure you, Milord, that mutiny will not happen here, not while I'm in command."

"How reassuring," Jaren nodded before taking another sip of the wine. "I value that very much. With Sir Tomas gone to Igros, I will be depending on you, Lord Gyle, to aid me in his stead."

"As I have said, Milord," Gyle began, trying to sound the humble servant even as he smiled in pride, "I am in your service. I shall do everything within my power to help you."

"Very good." Jaren then placed his cup down, folding his arms into voluminous sleeves as he walked over to the window and stared out. "I plan on going on a journey, Lord Gyle, to ensure the eminent capture of the heretics." He then turned away to look at him squarely. "It would please me greatly if you would accompany me."

Gyle remained silent for a time, reflecting on the priest's words, somewhat basking in the praise. He would gladly accompany Father Jaren on his journey, but now that he was commander, there were other obligations that need attention.

"Appoint a subcommander," Jaren instructed, surprising Gyle, realizing the priest would not take no as an answer. "They shall take care of things here while you're away. Make sure they are trustworthy. I do not want to return to find the capital in chaos or in our enemy's grasp."

"I understand," Gyle acknowledged, accepting the decision, wondering if he played a greater role in the priest's design. He was not worried, only anxious, eager to remain in good terms with the winning party for there was no doubt in his mind that they would win. If Jaren was sure of the heretics' capture, then the war would be won before it had begun. Besides, it was an honor to serve the Church. It had brought him good fortune thus far. "I shall make the necessary preparations."

"How long shall that take you?"

Gyle thought a moment. Then: "A day, I'd think; surely no more than two."

"Good." Jaren drank more wine. The day was already waning, the shadows lengthening, giving the room a more foreboding atmosphere to this already dark meeting. "Then, when you're done, come see me and we'll be on our way."

"As you order," Gyle said. "But...if you don't mind me asking, where are we going?"

The priest smiled. "We're going to witness an execution."

* * *

Ramia had sooner died than awake to failure and the reality that she had been captured by her most hated foes.

It had been a rude awakening, her head slightly aching, her vision a blur of colors. This is not what she had pictured the afterlife would be, to feel pain and not see? She had thought that she was being punished for her failure, that this must be the 'hell' the priests preached about, the place of unending suffering.

She'd been wrong.

She had heard voices, and they had brought her back from her stupor, like a wave crashing against her so that she bolted upright from her bed, gasping.

"Where am I?"

That was the first question that came to mind and later wished she hadn't asked.

The answer was hard to accept, harder still to live with the knowledge of it.

Ramia cursed softly as she strode the streets of Yardow. The place was busy with the work of reconstruction, carpenters lading the crisp air with the pleasant odor of cut wood, while on the ramparts she could hear the creaking of the winches that hauled up the massive slabs that would rebuild the ravaged wall. It was none too soon, for winter had begun. As the season progressed, it would render such activities dangerous as ice and wind settled in, and a damaged fort city was like a wounded knight—open to attack. Despite her hatred towards her enemies, she grudgingly admired their wisdom in seeing to the repairs.

But was their act one of kindness or one of convenience she has yet to decide.

Two days had passed since the battle of Yardow had ended. Two days since she had met with her enemies once again and had been given a choice.

Ramia scowled, remembering the words that had been exchanged that day...

* * *

"You're lying!"

The speaker was a tall man, broad of shoulder and chest, his beard dense and red as a fox's brush, matching the flustered color in his cheeks. His name was Nicolas Corwin, magistrate of the fort city. He stood a pace or two ahead of the crowd-filled square, glowering up at the dais where Delita stood, Raizen beside him, Ramza and Kristopherson standing behind.

Delita said "I could use force if I so choose" in a firm, almost challenging voice.

Corwin snorted. "It will only prove the truth that you are lying. You used force to break down our walls," he gestured towards those very same walls, "and you'll use force to conquer us into submission!"

The crowd behind him—most of the city's citizenry—shouted their agreement. Corwin waited for the hubbub to die away, then: "You see? We will not be fooled so easily. Take your army and leave us alone! We will take no part in your so-called revolution."

Ramza watched Delita take a step forward and then looked past him, out over the throng to the Tempest Knights ringing the square. They stood to attention, shields ready to the fore. Most of the people of Yardow were unarmed, but the Lesalian Knights—who remained strangely quiet during the heated exchange—were armed with swords and lances, if not heavier weapons and Ramza prayed that their disagreement not provoke a riot: that must inevitably end in bloodshed.

Especially when a young woman suddenly joined the argument.

Now it was St. Konoe's turn to have a say.

"If you are truly the King of Ivalice, then you would not be seeking help from heretics." Like Corwin, Ramia stood ahead of the crowd in representation of the Lesalian Knights, glaring defiantly at Delita. "As King, you should be aiding us in their capture, not allying yourself with them!"

_She still blames us for what happened to Agrias_, Ramza thought sadly, gazing at the young woman, seeing the pain and anger in her hazel eyes. He then looked to Delita, standing on the edge of the platform, head bowed slightly as if in thought. He could only see his back, but he could imagine how he appeared to the crowd, and felt only regret.

"Lady Ramia, you say these things because of your own personal reasons," Delita addressed her in a calm, patient voice. "It is a separate issue that will be discussed in private. The matter we speak of now, as a whole, concerns the people of Ivalice."

"Who has the right to know why you side with heretics!" the Holy Knight snapped, her fists tightly clenched as she shook with suppressed rage.

She was so close to her goal, close to winning back her mother's freedom. The heretic was right there, right in front of her, yet so far.

Why do they protect him? He was a criminal, yet he remained free. He was supposed to be in her mother's place, paying dearly for the crimes he had committed against the Church. Why could they not see that? It made no sense at all!

Delita sighed as he closed his eyes, voicing a silent prayer to Ovelia to give him strength to ease this young woman's troubled heart. He understood her pain, having gone through a similar situation when his sister had died, wanting nothing more than to even the score with the nobles who had ruined his life. But it was not his place to tell her these things, nor was it the right time.

So he said instead, "You are right, Lady Ramia," as he opened his eyes. "The people have the right to know."

He then faced the crowd once more, spreading his arms wide as if to encompass them all in his embrace. "I know that it was thoughtless of me to disappear so suddenly after the death of my wife, thus leaving my position as King of Ivalice. Some of you may have thought of me as foolish. Others may have thought me a coward." His arms fell to his side as he sighed. "Perhaps you were right, _are_ still right. This war, this crusade may seem foolish, but a coward I am not. It's been too long since Ivalice has seen true peace. I come to deliver that peace to you, to see an end to all the fighting and the hardship." He gestured towards Ramza. "The heretics feel the same way as I. We do not wish to see any more suffering on our behalf. That is why they aid me. We work together to build a brighter future for ourselves and our children. The Tempest Knights have placed their differences aside to aid us and I ask for you to do the same. I do not care if you're a heretic. I do not care if you're a knight. I do not care if you're a commoner. Rank does not matter, as long as we work together for a common purpose, a common goal: peace in Ivalice."

Corwin shuffled nervously as Ramia continued to glare at Delita and the man behind him.

Peace.

That's what the magistrate wanted for his city. He tore his gaze from Delita and looked to the knights surrounding the square. Some of them had ties with this city, he knew, recognizing the men he had grown up with in his childhood, men he considered as friends. If they were willing to support this rebellion, then perhaps they should too. But he was only one voice and wondered what the citizens thought, as he glanced over his shoulder.

Some seemed upset while most seemed uncertain, milling nervously as a herd of frightened cattle. They looked to him for guidance for this goes beyond a simple dispute regarding land or crops. This decision not only concerned them, but the rest of Ivalice as well.

Would they just stand idly by while the rest of the country struggled? Would they just close their eyes, hoping that it would go away?

These were the questions that raced through Corwin's mind, but the decision was not his to make. He needed time to discuss this with the people of Yardow in town council. He told this and Delita smiled in understanding, saying, "As I have said, I could use force if I so choose, but it's best that you decide what you want for yourselves. I will not hold it against you if you decide not to join us."

"I thank you." Corwin ducked his head before moving away, gesturing to the crowd that the meeting was over. They began to disperse, muttering among themselves as they tried to make sense of these strange tidings.

As Corwin was about to leave the square along with the people, he was stopped by a shout:

"Magistrate! Don't tell me that you believe them, that you're considering their proposal!"

The magistrate turned to face the young lady knight, meeting her gaze unflinchingly, unmoved by her show of anger. "I have heard about you and your family, Lady Ramia, and let me tell you this: they have sacrificed much to serve the people of Ivalice. You, however, fail to see that for your vision is short-sighted."

"What do you mean short-sighted?" Ramia challenged. "I can see clearly!" She pointed at Ramza. "He's the source of all our problems! Capture him and his friends and everything shall be set right!"

"Will it now?" the magistrate mused. "After fifteen years of power, I doubt the Church would relinquish their rule so easily."

Behind her, Ramia could hear some of her men murmuring in contemplation. "What do you mean by that?" she demanded. "Certainly Prince Clemence has been ruling Ivalice for the past fifteen years, not the Church."

"The Puppet Prince..." she heard one of her men reply in disdain and she turned to see who spoke. She was surprised and, at the same time, disappointed to find that it was Galvin.

The Limberrian stepped forward as if to challenge Ramia. "Prince Clemence is nothing but a Puppet Prince whose strings are being pulled by Father Jaren," he told her. "Magistrate Corwin speaks the truth, Ramia. Jaren enjoys being the puppetmaster and will not abandon his position so readily."

"At least there's one among you who still have their eyes open," Corwin muttered in which Ramia glared at him. The magistrate shrugged, his smile passive. "I may not live at the capital city, Lady Ramia, but that much I could see, even from here. The question you must ask yourself now is where do your loyalty lies: Prince Clemence, who serves the Church, or these people," he gestured towards the platform, "who claim to do this for Ivalice's people? Now if you'll excuse me, I must ask the same for my own city. This matter must be resolved on your own, Lady Ramia." The magistrate executed a brief bow before taking his leave of the two opposing parties.

Ramia could only watch him go, angered at this show of sedition, especially when she turned towards Galvin, demanding, "Do you know what you have done? You dare agree with what he said? You dare side with these...these...criminals? What would father think about your behavior, Galvin?"

"Grandfather would agree with me," Galvin replied in an even tone, his expression cool under Ramia's heated gaze. He then pulled a folded parchment from his tunic as he added, "He has already."

Ramia stared in astonishment at the paper, particularly to the dried wax engraved with a tree branch shaped like a sword.

The seal of the Birch family!

"No, it can't be...!" she whispered in disbelief.

How could her own adopted family—her own family's closest friends—betray her like this? Betray them? They promised to support her and this is how they plan on accomplishing it? By siding with these criminals? The same criminals that brought dishonor to her family? Do they risk dishonor as well?

As these questions raced through her confused and angered mind, Galvin went up to the podium where he handed the letter to Delita. "My lord king," he addressed him, "Limberry has decided to join your cause now that Ramia is safe and among friends."

That statement jolted Ramia from her daze, her anger multiplying tenfold. "Friends?" Her scream pierced the silent air like an arrow from the heavens. "You dare call them _friends_? I trusted you, Galvin, you and your family, and now you're turning against me?" She then turned to her men behind her. "Will you all turn against me?" she challenged them.

"At least some of us who were not caught in the sleeping spell chose to stay and follow you, Lady Ramia," one of her knights replied. "Unlike your subcommander, Lord Gyle, and those loyal to him, who retreated without even organizing a counter-offensive."

Ramia gasped at the remark. In her anger for the heretics, she had forgotten about Lord Gyle and the rest of her troops. Where are they now? Why did they retreat? How could they just abandon their comrades to the enemy? Certainly, they had outnumbered their enemies that they could have easily defeated them, spell or no. But they had not and she began to wonder if Lord Gyle had planned this all along. It was possible...

She suddenly felt ill, her knees buckling beneath her. The meeting was putting an emotional strain on her strength. Three times she's been rebuffed, first by the magistrate, then by Galvin, and now by her own knights! Confusion mingled with anger and disbelief was enough to drive her to the floor and once again she felt very vulnerable, as if their harsh words were physical blows.

Galvin walked up to her and knelt down, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I think it's time you listen to their story, Ramia. Perhaps then, your confusion will be cleared enough to help you decide if they are the enemy or not."

Ramia remained silent, as Galvin stood up and addressed the rest of the knights, deliberating whether to listen to his advice or to outright defy her enemies. She decided to go with the former, weary from all the yelling and the screaming, which only served to add more confusion. It was time for her to listen even if she didn't like the idea.

"All right," she said as she slowly rose from her knees and looked up at the dais. "I'll listen to what you have to say."

* * *

Ramia and Galvin were taken to the garrison that once housed the Shrine Knights, who were being tended to in an unmarked building despite Ramza's objection, and were brought to the same room where they had met for the first time. This time, however, the roles were reversed and the room seemed smaller than before as others were gathered around.

She immediately recognized the three from both the city square and their first meeting: Delita sitting on the chair she once had occupied while his son stood behind and slightly to the right of him where Lord Gyle once had been. The Heretic stood by the window, staring at her with that same sadness she had seen when they had fought. The others gathered she did not know though two seemed to evoke some faint memory, feeling as if she should know who they are.

She set the feeling aside, however, as they were escorted to two chairs. Both she and Galvin refused, preferring to stand instead.

Delita nodded then said in greeting, "On behalf of Ramza Beoulve and his friends, which you see gathered here," he motioned to the crowded room, "our thanks goes to you, Sir Galvin, and your family for taking care of Ramia during these trying times. Your grandfather has told me as much." He placed a hand over the letter given him by Galvin that was lying on the table in front of him.

"It was the least he could do to an old friend," Galvin returned then smiled as he added, "Growing up with Ramia and training alongside her has given me the best memories I have of childhood. Being an only child, she relieved me of my boredom. I cherished every moment and I would not trade anything in this world to take them back. My family considers the Oaks family as honorable as any noble family and we believe that Lady Agrias had her own reasons in siding with you during the Lion War." He looked to Ramza. "We believe she acted out of honor and loyalty to Ivalice."

"She did," Ramza spoke, his voice soft, tinged with sorrow. He looked to Ramia and she suddenly saw purpose blaze in his eyes, replacing the sadness seen earlier. "You must understand, Ramia, I did not force your mother to join our cause nor did I coax her into making the decision. She joined us out of her own freewill after seeing the treachery of the Church firsthand."

"And what treachery was that?" Ramia demanded, her tone defiant, but her face clearly showed her curiosity and bewilderment.

Ramza answered her question with another: "What do you know about the Lion War, Ramia?"

"It divided Ivalice in two over who would be the successor to the throne," she stated then frowned. "But what does it have to do with the Church's treachery you spoke of?"

"Everything. The Church manipulated the war in order to gain power afterwards. It began with the kidnapping of a certain Princess. You know of this, no doubt."

"Yes," Ramia nodded, remembering her history lessons with Brother Ray. "Princess Ovelia was kidnapped from Orbonne Monastery and was rescued by a young knight named..." Her voice trailed away as she stared at Delita in incredulity, realizing now that not only the King of Ivalice sat before her, but also the Hero of the Lion War.

"It was you," she said, the doubt gone now. "It was you who led the Nanten and it was you who married Princess Ovelia, thus ending the war. But still..."

"It does not explain what hand the Church had in the war," Ramza finished for her and she looked at him, prompting him to continue his story.

"What the history books do not say, I shall tell you," he began. "And if you doubt any of it, there are others who will claim the same." He looked past Ramia's shoulder to Lavian and Alicia standing behind, much like the retainers they once were to Agrias, before reverting his gaze back to the lady knight.

"Ramia, after the Fifty Year War had ended, your mother was assigned to guard Princess Ovelia at Orbonne Monastery. A year later, Princess Ovelia was to be returned to the Imperial Capital. I was part of the mercenary band hired to protect the Princess during her journey. Unfortunately, we failed our contract."

"The kidnapping," Ramia stated and Ramza nodded.

"True to her calling, your mother vowed on her knight's honor that she would retrieve the Princess. I, on the other hand, volunteered to accompany her for you see, the kidnapper was none other than my friend here," he gestured towards Delita, "who I had presumed was dead after an incident a year before. I wanted to know how he had survived and why he was in league with the Nanten. The leader of our mercenary band, Gaff Gafgarion, would not have it for it was not in our contract, but he knew how stubborn I was and so agreed to come with us. We all went to the nearest city, Dorter, hoping to discover where Delita had taken Princess Ovelia. What we found, however, was an ambush waiting for us. Someone did not want us interfering with whatever plot they were scheming."

"Let me guess... The Church," Ramia snickered, her voice dripping with sarcasm, apparently not taken by the story.

Ramza ignored the comment as he continued: "We defeated the ambush, which raised more questions of why the Princess was kidnapped, why we were attacked, but most importantly, where would the kidnapper take Ovelia. Upon your mother's suggestion that they would probably take her to Bethla Garrison, we headed for the impenetrable fortress. But it proved unnecessary as we caught up to the kidnapper and the Princess at Zirekile Falls.

"Both were surrounded by Hokuten Knights, demanding Delita to return the Princess to them. He refused, saying that they would kill her, then they would kill him for knowing the truth. I was startled by the statement. What did Delita know that we did not?"

"Except for Gafgarion," Ramia heard someone mutter from somewhere behind.

"Yes, except for Gafgarion," Ramza repeated, his expression dark. "He knew exactly what was happening. 'Our job is to kidnap the Princess "unharmed",' he said. 'The job is to kill you all and keep things quiet!'"

Ramia bristled at this. "You were hired to do what?"

At which Ramza smiled in nostalgia, unperturbed by the Holy Knight's ire. "That's how your mother reacted. Somehow, it was part of our contract, but I refused to honor it. I, along with a fellow mercenary," he nodded to Rad, who had muttered earlier, "joined your mother in defeating the Hokuten Knights. The Princess was finally saved, but Delita insisted that she continued to accompany him. Your mother would not have it, so he decided that she could stay with us for a while without leaving a few words of advice and caution.

"'Think about it. Where would you take her after making an enemy of Hokuten? Crack Hokuten troops will come here looking for you any time now. Just where the hell do you plan on escaping to? Think carefully. The Princess knows this was Prince Larg's plan. The royal family is not on your side. So what about Goltana? No, he'd execute you just to clear himself.'

"Delita was right. Nobody would help us. So, what now? Where could we go after making an enemy of Hokuten? Your mother then suggested that we ask Cardinal Draclau for aid since Glabados Church has jurisdiction over Lionel. Hokuten had to be careful what they did in Lionel. So, it was decided. But as the saying goes, 'Out of the frying pan and into the fire.' That's exactly what happened in Lionel.

"On our way to Lionel Castle, we met a mechanic named Mustadio Bunanza at Zaland Fort City, who was being chased by Bart Company, a group of traders. After rescuing him, we learned his story. He wished to accompany us to meet the Cardinal, hoping that he would help him rescue his father, who was being held hostage by Bart. Your mother refused at first, sensing that there was something this mechanic wasn't telling us, but Ovelia granted his wish. Suffice to say, we were already being tangled in the Church's web of intrigue and treachery.

"On our way to Lionel Castle, we were again attacked by Bart Company. Mustadio still refused to tell us why they were after him, but when we finally met Cardinal Draclau, the answer was provided. It seemed our friend has found a Zodiac stone in his hometown of Goug and Rudvich, the leader of Bart Company, wanted the stone, to use its power to make weapons. More strings in the web of intrigue were being weaved, tightening us in its grasp.

"Draclau agreed to help both Ovelia and Mustadio, promising to send a messenger to Murond and troops to Goug. He kept the latter, but betrayed the Princess."

"Liar! That can't be!" Ramia growled, aghast at the thought that a holy man—a Cardinal!—would betray them. "The Church would never go back on their vow! You must have fabricated this _lie_ so I could sympathize with you!"

"Enough, Ramia." Lavian laid a placating hand on the young woman's shoulder. "What Ramza tells you is the truth. You mustn't think otherwise or your mother will surely be lost to us."

"And who are you to tell me what to believe is best for my mother?" Ramia rounded angrily on the woman behind her and again that feeling of recognition struck her as she stared at her and the one standing besides her. "Have we met somewhere before because I have a vague feeling that I know you..."

"I am Lavian Rashere, but I was known as Lavian Wayte while serving under your family as a knight," she replied. "You were still very young when we left after your mother's trial, but I see that you still remember us even if your memory is a little vague."

"Lavian..." Ramia repeated in thought, trying to place the name. She then turned to the woman standing besides Lavian and asked, "And this is?"

"Alicia Lavitz," Lavian answered for her friend, who was staring intently at Ramia. "As I said, both of us served under your family and it was both of us who had accompanied your mother and Princess Ovelia on their journey. That is why you must believe what Ramza is telling you. We were there when we found out that Cardinal Draclau was in league with Prince Larg." She then looked at Ramza and asked, "May I?"

Ramza nodded. Though he had heard the story from Agrias of what had happened at Lionel Castle, it was best that Lavian told Ramia. Perhaps hearing it from one who had served directly under her family would somewhat calm the lady knight and earn a bit of her trust.

"As Ramza said, the Cardinal betrayed Princess Ovelia to the enemy," Lavian began. "Our stay at Lionel was restful at first. It had been a long journey and we were glad for the comforts of the old castle. But as the week wore on and still no word came from Murond, Lady Agrias began to get suspicious.

"'Don't worry, Agrias,' Ovelia had told her. 'It'll probably be some time before word comes back. The messenger was not exactly a young fellow, you know. Give it some time.'

"But Lady Agrias could not shake her feeling of suspicion as the week passed. If Princess Ovelia's business was urgent, why didn't Cardinal Draclau send a messenger who could deliver the message quickly? She then decided to confront the Cardinal on the issue. I did not know what had transpired then for Alicia and I were with the Princess in her room. Suddenly, Lady Agrias had burst into the room, her face a mask of bewilderment and outrage.

"'We must go now!' she cried out as she urged us to the door. 'Hurry! While the Cardinal doesn't know. And if anyone stops us and asks where we're going, tell them that we're going for a stroll around the countryside. Understood?'

"Both Alicia and I nodded, being the subservient knights that we are, but Princess Ovelia demanded to know what was going on. 'I'll explain everything once I deem it's safe,' Lady Agrias answered. 'Now hurry if you value your life.'

"That silenced Princess Ovelia and we hastily made our way to the stables. We almost reached it, but we were stopped by a group of guards. They demanded to know where we're going and Lady Agrias answered saying that the Princess wished to visit the countryside. The guard refused, saying that it's prudent for the Princess to stay in the castle if she were to remain safe.

"As Lady Agrias argued with the knight, we noticed more guards arriving. We knew then that something was very wrong, as we fingered the hilts of our swords anxiously. Even Princess Ovelia was beginning to get apprehensive about the situation. However, Lady Agrias' patience was running thin.

"She drew her sword and attacked the guard. 'Run!' she yelled to us, grabbing the Princess' hand as she led us towards the castle's gates, which were beginning to close as more knights arrived to block our escape. We fought our way through, never realizing that the Princess was no longer with us until it was too late. We barely made it through the gates before it closed behind us. Only then did we realize that Princess Ovelia wasn't behind us. Lady Agrias would have gone back even if it meant certain death if it were not for Princess Ovelia's commands through the gates.

"'Seek aid!' she shouted as she was dragged away. 'Seek Ramza!' It seemed as if Lady Agrias would refuse, but she grudgingly agreed, vowing that she would return to rescue her. Then we ran, as orders of pursuit were bellowed throughout the castle.

"We escaped to a forest, hoping to find a few hours of rest within its thickets before Lionel troops swarmed the place, and it was there that we learned of what Lady Agrias had discovered.

"Cardinal Draclau was working with Prince Larg. They planned on executing the Princess at Golgorand. If the Princess was gone, then Prince Orinas would be the only heir, therefore, appointing Larg as regent."

"But you stopped their plot," Ramia murmured, her voice pensive as her mind tried to place all the pieces of the puzzle together. She then looked to Ramza and asked, "Is this the treachery of the Church my mother had witnessed?"

"In part," Ramza replied. "What the Cardinal was really after was the Zodiac stone Mustadio had found in Goug. You've heard of the Zodiac Brave Story, no?"

Ramia nodded, her eyes questioning.

"The Church used this story to help gain the people's trust that were beginning to tire of the war," he continued. "They wanted to collect the stones, to recreate the Zodiac Braves in order to raise the power of the Church higher than that of the King. That was High Priest Funeral's intent, but there were others who had other plans. Vormav Tingel was Head of the Temple Knights of the Murond Glabados Church at that time. He went along with Funeral's plan, to gain the stones...and their hidden power. Funeral did not know the stones' true potential.

"Suffice to say, your mother and all of us you see here witnessed their true power. Cardinal Draclau was but the first of many transformations we have seen: to transform into monsters by calling upon the stones' power."

Ramia suddenly burst out laughing. The story that seemed so serious at first now sounded absurd. "This is the most ridiculous thing I've heard in my life!" she exclaimed between laughs. "Church officials turning into monsters by using the Zodiac stones? That's silly! The Zodiac stones are but holy artifacts that symbolize the Zodiac Braves that saved Ivalice a long time ago. They possess no special power."

"You do not believe us," Ramza stated in disappointment. "I thought as much. You're more like your father than your mother."

Ramia abruptly stopped her laughter, staring at Ramza with disgust and anger. "My father? You know my father?" she asked, her voice filled with loathing, and when Ramza nodded, demanded, "Who is he? Where is he? Is he among you now?" She gazed around the room, her eyes reproving, hoping to find some sign of acknowledgment from the group.

"You'll meet him soon, after we rescue your mother from Bethla Garrison," Ramza replied in a calm tone.

"My mother...?" Ramia whispered in wonder. "How would you know where...?" Her voice trailed away as realization hit her, turning to Galvin. "You told them?"

Before the young knight could utter a reply, Delita said, "Your adoptive father has written the whereabouts of your mother." He gestured towards the letter again. "He has also warned us that you would not take kindly to us. I understand your sentiment, but know this, Lady Ramia. Your mother will be brought back to us, with or without your help."

"I won't let you!" the young woman seethed, angered at the thought that the people who caused her mother's imprisonment would be the ones to liberate her. Weren't they ashamed of themselves? And not only that, but her father was in the very same room as she and has no courage to identify himself.

_The coward_, she thought as she once again glared around the room before looking at Ramza, who spoke:

"You are afraid."

"Afraid of what?" Ramia queried, a note of sarcasm in her voice.

"That what we have told you is the truth."

"R-Ridiculous!" the young woman stuttered. "Why would I be afraid of your inane story? It reeks of childishness!"

Though she put up a strong front, Ramza's words had hit the mark. She was afraid.

Afraid to discover the story to be true from the one person she trusted the most:

Her mother.

"Then I will give you another source of truth," Ramza offered as he pulled out a small decrepit book and handed it to Ramia, who stared at it questioningly. "The Germonik Scriptures," he explained. "If you are truly not afraid of the truth, you'll read this and discover the truth yourself."

Ramia hesitated. She knew of Germonik, the disciple of St. Ajora who had betrayed him to the Yudora Empire, having heard about him during a history lesson. Beyond that, however, she knew nothing about him—his life and time with St. Ajora. Does this book explain it? What truth does it contain?

Hesitation pushed aside, she took the book, as she declared in an even voice, "I am not afraid."

Ramza nodded. "You have a choice to believe what you will. Either way, however, your mother will be freed. As soon as Yardow is secured, we will go to Bethla Garrison and rescue her. You have until then to decide. What will you believe in, Ramia?"

* * *

The words echoed in Ramia's mind as the memory receded. She considered her decision. She could discard the Germonik Scriptures as false, saying that it was a product made by the heretics to fool her and everyone else, but the only person she would be fooling was herself. What she had read made complete and utter sense.

And it scared her.

All this time she had been living a lie. Her mother was imprisoned not because of her involvement with Ramza's crusade, but because of what she believed.

_Was I wrong all this time?_

Behind her, Alicia stood in silence, her expression blank as always. After the meeting, she had taken it upon herself to watch over the young Holy Knight just as she had vowed to Agrias when she was born. She could sense her ward's anxiety and wanted to say something to comfort her, but the words were hard to form, so instead she placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

At the touch, Ramia glanced over her shoulder to see Alicia, who nodded once before letting go.

The pain of choosing eased as she smiled and turned to regard the reconstruction of the walls. It had not taken the townspeople long to decide in aiding the rebellion, having made their decision two days prior, on that same day as the meeting in the square. The men worked along the knights of both orders as the women brought them food and drink. Commoners stood side by side with nobles; heretics along with believers; a blending of people brought together by a common goal:

Peace.

Yes, this is what she wanted. Not only for herself, but for her mother and everyone else as well.

"My path is clear..." she whispered, her decision made. "All I must do now is carve it."

She looked up to the sky, which was beginning to clear a bit, the sun shining through the clouds. It was as if heaven was giving its blessing.

Ramia smiled. _Grandfather, I will keep my promise. Mother will be coming home soon. _


	22. You Must Live

**Chapter Twenty-One: You Must Live**

Officially it was Father Jaren Kazut who led the column out, but in fact it was Gyle Ilde, mounted on a fine chocobo of bright yellow feathers, who rode at the head. A Lesalian squire sided him to the right, bearing the standard of Lesalia, and a Shrine Knight rode to his left, bearing the insignia of his order. Immediately behind them came the rest of the party—ten of Jaren's Shrine Knights, the rest all St. Konoe Knights. The priest himself rode a wagon, which was having a difficult time climbing the road up to where the impregnable fortress of Bethla Garrison stood atop the cliff.

After five days of travel, they have finally reached their destination. Gyle was relieved, as they rode through the massive iron gates, that they had made the journey within the allotted time. If they had delayed any longer at Lesalia, the snows would have covered the trail at Doguola Pass, making it difficult to traverse.

Jaren also seemed pleased as he disembarked his wagon, smiling his feral smile, which grew wider and a lot more cunning as one of the guards on duty approached him. The guard commenced a greeting, and Jaren raised a hand, less in welcome than to halt the guard's salutation.

"I am Father Jaren Kazut." He spoke as the guard's greeting died on his lips. "Where is the keeper of this fort?"

The guard looked a bit dumbfounded, caught unawares by this surprise visit. He tried to form a reply, his lips moving, but no sound came out. "L-Lord Rycroft!" he stuttered as soon as his shock wore off, finally finding his voice. "Someone send for Lord Rycroft!"

The order was echoed throughout the fort, as a knight ran into the keep to fetch the keeper. The rest of the knights milled about at their posts, watching with rising curiosity at the unexpected visit of the priest and his party as they waited.

"How disappointing," Gyle remarked sourly to Jaren. "I would have expected a reception at our arrival."

"Our visit was unannounced," Jaren explained to the Lesalian Commander. "Only Lars knows of our coming."

"Lars?" Gyle stared inquisitively at the priest, who nodded in return, but before he could give further explanation, they were interrupted by the hurried arrival of the keeper.

"Forgive me, Milord!" Rycroft apologized as he bowed, his features flustered. "If I had known of your coming, I would have prepared a better welcome."

"It's quite all right, Keeper," Jaren replied as he held up a hand to placate Rycroft. "Our visit is only temporary. Nothing for you to be upset about." He then motioned towards the troops behind him. "Stables for our mounts, food and quarters for my men."

"Y-Yes, of course!" Rycroft stammered, briefly gazing at the party gathered around the courtyard, wondering why there were so many and, with rising suspicion, what was their true purpose. "The arrangements shall be made."

"Very well," Jaren ducked his head. "That done, join me in the dungeons. There is something I need to discuss with you."

He turned away, ignoring Rycroft's questioning stare, and beckoned for Gyle follow him. Rycroft turned his questioning eyes towards Gyle, hoping to find some sort of explanation of this unannounced visit, but the commander just smiled and shrugged in answer as he followed the priest.

"A Lesalian Knight…" Rycroft heard the guard mutter. "And he's not the only one. Keeper, Lesalian Knights are traveling with the priest's Shrine Knights. What could this mean?"

Rycroft watched Gyle's retreating form, frowning, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"Trouble."

* * *

Agrias Oaks sat on her bed, using the only stool as a table as she ate the meager meal that was her dinner. Though the meal did nothing to restore her strength of body, the recent reunion with her daughter had restored her spirit.

During the past ten years she's been at Bethla, there were times that she had almost lost her sanity. She was never let out of her cell. She was given paltry meals. The warden made sure that she lived in misery, and she had until about a month ago.

It was not until then that she had forgotten what the sky looked like, how the wind felt against her skin. She had lost herself to the darkness of despair until Ramia came with her radiant light and warmth.

And the memories.

It was those memories that brought her back and now she kept them close to her heart, afraid that to lose them was to lose herself again to despair. Those memories were her hope: hope that Ramia would return to her safely, hope that she would return to the world above, hope for a better future.

Smiling at the thought, she finished her meal and was standing from the bed, when the key rattled in the cell door. She gazed expectantly as the door creaked open, hoping that it was Ramia returned or that it was Lord Birch coming to tell her of news of the rebellion.

Unfortunately, it was neither.

She growled low in her throat—a sound full of anger and hate—as a figure draped in black robes entered.

A figure from her nightmares.

Jaren smiled his usual, feral smile. "I see that you still remember me," he said, his voice cool, smug, seeming to relish in her anger. "Do you miss me that much that you can't forget me after all these years?"

Agrias roared in reply as she charged at the priest, wanting to wipe that haughty look on his face. She may have lost the ability to speak, but she would make sure that Jaren got her message with her fist. She drew her arm back, ready to throw the punch when suddenly, another figure intercepted, executing a vicious backhand across her face.

She staggered at the blow, toppling to the cold, stone floor, stunned. Her cheek stung, as she blinked back tears, her vision a blur. When it cleared, she looked up to see her assailant towering over her, her eyes widening slightly as she recognized him.

"You already know Lord Gyle Ilde, I believe," Jaren spoke as he came to stand by the knight. "He has taken your father's place as Commander of Lesalia's St. Konoe Knights."

Agrias growled her displeasure. She had learned from Ramia that Gyle may have had a hand in her father's—former Commander's—death. To learn that he succeeded her father was an outrage and an insult to his good name.

Something snapped in Agrias then, as she suddenly lunged at Gyle. All the pain and suffering, isolation and despair that had build up over the fifteen years she's been imprisoned was now being released as rage welled within her. The news of Gyle's position was the last blow to break that wall.

Gyle smirked, swaying to the side as Agrias' punch passed by, her momentum carrying her forward. He quickly grabbed her wrist and twisted her around by her arm.

Agrias grimaced, being in a painful position with her arm twisted behind her back. Despite her predicament, she struggled against Gyle's hold.

"You do not approve of my newfound rank," Gyle whispered in her ear. "You're just as stubborn as that fool of a daughter of yours." With a snarl, he flung her against the wall.

Agrias felt her face slam against the wall before she crumpled to the ground, groaning. Recovering a bit slower than she would have fifteen years ago, she struggled to stand, only to find herself being lifted up.

Gyle held her by the collar of her robe, still wearing that same smirk of his, obviously enjoying himself. "What? No congratulations?"

Agrias spat at his face.

Gyle's eyes flared in anger. His smirk changed into a growl, his lips curling back from his teeth. "You'll regret that, wench!" He threw her across the room towards where Jaren stood watching the scene with an amused smile, at ease even as Agrias flew towards him.

Falling to the ground with a cry, Agrias' face scraped against the floor as she slid to a halt right at the priest's feet.

Jaren sneered at her. "Well, it's about time you've given me some respect."

Agrias struggled to rise in defiance, but Gyle kicked her side, sending her crashing to the floor again.

"Easy, Commander," Jaren stopped the knight, who held Agrias' head up by her hair. "As much as I hate to interrupt your reunion, we came here for a purpose."

Gyle snorted in contempt, a bit disappointed that his 'reunion' was over, as he let go. He then stood back as Jaren began pacing around Agrias, all slow and subtle, like the approach of a soft-stepping spider to its prey…

"It's been fifteen years since we last met, hasn't it? Fifteen long years of suffering…"

Agrias remained prone on the floor, listening to the priest's babble as his robe rustled with every step he took, wondering what design he wove for her. She then looked at Gyle, who stood perfectly still in attention, and also wondered what his role was to be in the priest's plot.

Whatever it was, it couldn't be anything good.

"Well, it's time that I release you from your pain." Jaren's voice brought Agrias back from her thoughts, and she gazed up at him, eyes wide with surprise at the priest's seemingly kind words.

Did he tire of her already? Was he releasing her from prison?

It was too good to be true, but she had her doubts as she gazed at the two men—first at Jaren then at Gyle then back again. She knew there was some hidden agenda between the two and she couldn't help but feel as if she was the center of it.

Seeing her dubious expression, Jaren was about to elaborate on the subject when there came a knock on the door.

"Forgive the intrusion, Milord," Lars humbly apologized as he entered, "but Lord Rycroft has arrived and is awaiting your audience."

Agrias saw Jaren smile at the news and couldn't help but suspect that the priest's visit to the impregnable fortress was no mere coincidence.

"Excellent!" the priest exclaimed. "Are the preparations complete?"

The warden nodded in answer to Jaren's question. "They are, Milord. I have sent word to Lionel regarding the execution."

Agrias gasped in surprise. _Execution?_

Was that what the priest meant by ending her pain? Will she finally be put to death—the death she so desired during her earlier years of imprisonment—when she had just recently reunited with her daughter? Now that Ramia knew the truth about her heritage, there was no reason for her to die. She wished to live, and if Jaren thought otherwise, then she would just have to disagree.

"Very good," Jaren commended the warden. "Tell the keeper that I will meet with him shortly."

"As you wish, Your Grace." Lars executed a swift bow before leaving to bear Jaren's message.

When the warden left, Jaren turned to Gyle, who had resumed taunting the prisoner, and sighed. "Come along, Commander," he said, not wanting to interrupt Gyle's amusement, but preparations need to be made if he was to be successful. "There will be ample occasion to talk with your former comrade on her final journey. For now, I need you to make some arrangements in preparation for our trip to Lionel just as we discussed on our way here."

Gyle grunted in disappointment, but did not object. Instead, he smirked as he moved towards the door. "We'll catch up later," he told Agrias, his tone promising more pain ahead for her. He then turned to Jaren. "By your leave, Milord." The priest nodded and Gyle took his leave.

"I suggest you pray for forgiveness," Jaren said to Agrias, who was still prone on the floor, almost as if complying with the priest. "You have approximately one week left on this world. Make your peace before then."

With those words of seeming comfort, he left to meet with the keeper, shutting the door behind, leaving the prisoner in darkness that seem darker than before…

* * *

Rycroft did not like the dungeons; he seldom visited the place. So when Father Jaren ordered him to meet him here, he felt out of place, uncomfortable and, for some unknown reason, afraid.

He remembered the tales his friend, Andrew, had told him about the priest, Father Jaren Kazut. He had described him as cunning and very ambitious, a selfish man who enjoyed the exercise of his power too much, relished his position too much. As he leaned against the stone slab that served as the room's table, he wondered what he would gain by visiting his fortress. He felt that something was amiss and he didn't like it.

The silence—his unnerving thoughts his only companion—had Rycroft on edge, so much so that he nearly jumped at the arrival of the priest.

"Forgive my tardiness," Jaren apologized as he took a seat across from the keeper. "I had to overlook some preparations for our journey tomorrow."

Rycroft raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "You're leaving tomorrow, Milord? So soon?"

Jaren nodded. "It's been fifteen years since the capture of the heretic, ten of which she have spent here in your fort, Keeper Rycroft. I've decided that now is the time to fulfill the sentence rightfully given to all heretics."

Rycroft gasped at the announcement, shocked, unable to believe what he'd just heard. After fifteen years of inconsideration for the prisoner, Jaren was finally showing mercy. But he wondered if Agrias would welcome such a boon after being reunited with her daughter just recently. He knew in his heart that she would not and knew, too, that the priest knew. The keeper could not help then, but admire Jaren's cunning.

Jaren scratched his nose before continuing: "We are leaving for Lionel early tomorrow morning, preferably before first light. I shall take my knights, of course, as well as a few Lesalian knights, with me. The rest shall stay here as reinforcements. I hope that is not a problem for you, Keeper."

"Not at all, Milord," Rycroft replied, his tone neutral as to hide the uncertainty he felt. The Shrine Knights accompanying Jaren he understands, but Lesalian Knights? Why were they here when last he heard, they were heading towards the province of Fovoham?

Andrew had informed him of such a week prior when he had passed through the fort on his return trip home from Lesalia. It was from him that he learned of what was transpiring around the country. Dissension had spread to the west, Gallione and Fovoham up in arms. He remembered Andrew mentioning that Ramia had been appointed Commander of St. Konoe. The knighthood had been deployed to aid those Shrine Knights who were holding the fort city of Yardow, the last stronghold of Fovoham.

He then wondered about Andrew's adopted daughter and why she wasn't here to accompany the priest's retinue. He doubted that she would have agreed to let her knights go unless…

Unless something has happened in Yardow to render such action necessary. He frowned then at the thought. What had happened to the Lesalian Knights' commander, Lady Ramia? What purpose did the St. Konoe Knights truly serve here in Bethla?

Such questions went unanswered as Jaren suddenly rose from his seat. "Excellent. Now dinner, I think."

Rycroft felt no wish to dine with a priest whose only concern was the heretics, and so he asked that Jaren excuse him, explaining that he wished to see to the reinforcements' accommodations. Jaren agreed, and with a sigh Rycroft quit the dungeons.

As he ascended the steps that would lead him to the courtyard, the keeper reflected the things said during the discussion. Though it had been short, it left him shaken with more questions than answers.

Questions that, perhaps, could be answered.

Now was the time for Bethla and Limberry to take their place in this war.

* * *

Time had no meaning to Agrias, who had only known the darkness of her cell for the past ten years.

So, when the door to her cell opened abruptly, awakening her from her troubled slumber, she couldn't tell if it was morning, afternoon, or even night. She squinted in the light of the torches that had suddenly flooded her cell as she rose from the stone slab that served as her bed. Through the glare, she could distinguish two figures approach her. She stood straight and proud, meeting the two Shrine Knights without fear, her expression unwavering.

"Heretic," said one, speaking in harsh tones, "it is time for your final journey. May God have mercy on your soul for the fires shall show none." His companion then approached Agrias and fastened the manacles he held around her wrists. That done, both knights started to grasp hold of her arms.

Agrias shrugged loose from their grip, refusing to be supported. She walked out the cell door of her own accord, her steps steady despite the death awaiting her in Lionel.

The jailer stood to one side, Lars besides him, who uttered, "It was just a matter of time," his tone dripping with sarcasm. "I hope you've said your prayers."

Agrias ignored him as she walked on with firm, unfaltering step, accompanied by her two knightly guards. She had indeed made her prayers, but it was not for forgiveness. She had prayed for strength and courage for she had decided that she would not die, but live.

She wanted to live.

She _must_ live.

That desire lend her the strength she needed to ascend the staircase that led to Lars' office. From there, it was a short walk to the courtyard where Jaren waited with an escort of knights to take her to the execution grounds.

Agrias emerged into the courtyard, which was filled with the rest of the party that would take her to Golgorand, all ready to depart as they sat on their chocobos, waiting. In the center was a carriage, its door open, Jaren standing besides it, Gyle behind him.

Shielding her eyes from the many torches that burned along the walls of the fortress, unaccustomed to such brilliance, she walked up to the carriage, or more specifically, to Jaren.

The priest only smirked, his air arrogant. He then looked at the two knights, and with a nod of his head, said: "Put her in the wagon."

The two knights again tried to grasp hold of her arms, but she shrugged them loose. She grimaced in contempt at Jaren, her eyes glaring, before she turned to the wagon that seemed to invite Death himself. As she was about to climb into it, a shout rang through the predawn air:

"Agrias-sama!"

She stopped and turned to see who had called her. Jaren and Gyle, as well as the other knights of their party, also gazed around in curiosity for they have never heard someone being addressed in that fashion.

"There!" one suddenly exclaimed, his hand pointing above. All eyes turned upwards towards the ramparts lined with knights of both the Aegis and Nanten orders. In their midst was the keeper, stern and aloof as he gazed down at them, especially at Agrias.

Rycroft addressed her again, this time soft, almost with reverence, speaking in a strange and unfamiliar language.

"What is he saying?" Jaren questioned Gyle behind him. "What language is he speaking?"

Gyle shrugged. "I do not know, Milord. Though Ivalice is united under one ruler, each province still retains some of its culture from before the kingdom's unification. Perhaps he's speaking in Limberry's ancient tongue?"

Indeed, Rycroft was speaking in ancient Limberrian, a language that Agrias had learned from Andrew's son, Alex. Her eyes filled with tears upon hearing his spoken words:

_Mine honor is my life; both grow in one. Remember that no one can ever take away your honor. As long as you have it, you are and will always be a knight, Lady Agrias. _

After the keeper finished, he bowed in respect, acknowledging the honor due. One by one, the other knights joined him just as the sun's first rays shone from the horizon, all the knights blending together in a blur of shining armor.

Agrias was stunned, and even if she had the power of speech, she would find no words, no voice to speak them. She nodded her silent thanks. Her eyes dim with tears, she finally embarked the carriage.

Jaren frowned in disapproval at the display, making a mental note to question Rycroft upon his return from the execution, before boarding the carriage himself. Gyle was the last to follow, briefly gazing at the keeper, his expression cold, before shutting the wagon's door.

As the convoy slowly rode away from the courtyard, Rycroft and his men—save for the Lesalians left behind—still bowed.

* * *

Bed Desert.

A wild area to the west of Limberry, it was once tamed by the Zhonu, an ancient people who were known for their nomadic ways. They probably lived by hunting and fishing, practicing limited forms of agriculture, or herding animals such as cattle or sheep.

But as the climate became drier, they were forced to rely increasingly on animal husbandry as a means of livelihood. Their solution was to master the art of riding on chocobo-back and to adopt the nomadic life. Organized into tribes, they ranged far and wide in search of pasture for their herds of cattle, goats, and sheep.

But this new way of life had its own set of challenges. Increased food production led to a growing population, which in times of drought outstripped the available resources. Rival tribes competed for the best pastures. After they mastered the art of fighting on chocobo-back, territorial warfare became commonplace throughout the entire area.

It was not until the appearance of Zhin that the fighting stopped. Through his prowess and the power of his personality, he gradually unified the Zhonu tribes. He was appointed "Universal Ruler" and from that time on, he devoted himself to the people.

To administer the new empire, Zhin set up a capital city at the middle of the region, which was named Mungo. It was a magnificent city where, as one scholar had written, "so many pleasures may be found that one fancies himself to be in Paradise." The city itself was protected by thick walls of earth penetrated by twelve massive gates, a more fortified version of Ivalice's modern fort cities, which pale in comparison.

The people prospered under Zhin's rule and his successors thereafter. But as the centuries went by, the climate became worse. The dry weather no longer could sustain them as the animals began to die from the heat. Pastures became increasingly harder to find and water dried in wells. The people began to migrate to find better land, abandoning the once beautiful city of Mungo. Fields of dirt soon turned into sand, the sun scorching the ground, the blistering wind destroying what were once Zhonu lands.

Soon the area was forgotten, the remnants of a proud empire buried in the sands like the skeletal remains of a dead animal eaten by vultures.

It was in these ruins that Ramza and his party set up camp as night fell, the cool, soothing wind relieving the scorching desert heat of the day.

A fire was built, its glow illuminating the wooden walls that once was the castle of Mungo, the very center of the capital city. Halls that had stood silent for centuries were now filled with the sounds of laughter and revelry as the group gathered round the fire, waiting for their supper.

Ramza sat apart from the group, at the edge of the circle of light, ignoring the voices of his companions as he stared up at the star-ridden sky and remembered…

Remembered those nights, twenty years ago during the Lion War, when he and his troops would make camp. They would all sit around the fire, boasting their bravery as their dinner heated. And as they ate, tales of heroism would be exchanged.

Ramza did not join in their revelry. He would always sit far apart, away from his companions, always thinking of the battles that they would face the next day and the decisions he would have to make.

That would always be his agony throughout those nights. Would he live to fight another day? Would his companions live or would someone die because of a decision he made?

The thoughts that would plague him then, plagued him now, more than ever. He looked to the line of peaks that marked the end of the desert, to where Bethla barred the way to Limberry and Zeltennia, and thought of the decision he had made at Orbonne to leave Ivalice and his friends behind.

Then it seemed to be a sound decision, but now he wasn't so sure. That decision had caused his companions to suffer, had caused Ivalice to suffer. He never thought that his decision would affect the lives of many.

Sighing, he closed his eyes in reflection. He turned his head towards the breeze, feeling its cool touch upon his skin, the smell of roasted fowls riding in its wake, and with it the sound of footsteps approaching. He opened his eyes and turned to see Galvin coming with two plates of food.

"I thought you'd be hungry so I'd brought you a plate," the Limberrian said, offering the food to Ramza.

The Beoulve stared at Galvin a moment, surprised at his kind gesture. The young knight had spoken little to him since leaving the fort city, perhaps because he had made little attempt in conversation with the rest of the party, always separating himself from the group.

Ramza smiled softly, grateful for his initiative. He whispered, "Thank you," as he took the proffered plate.

"You are well?" Galvin asked as he sat beside Ramza, spooning the stew, courtesy of Jovel who had ranged ahead to bring down several flavorsome birds. "You seem distracted these past few days."

"It is the way I am," Ramza replied, "since the Lion War. To reflect on the day and to wonder about tomorrow is what I do."

"You do not need to worry about tomorrow." The Limberrian set his bowl aside and looked to Ramza. "It's the moment we share now that counts." He turned to look at the others gathered around the fire and Ramza followed his gaze.

Wolfen and Malak were brushing the chocobos down. Delita and Raizen were speaking with Ramia, Lavian, Alicia, and Orlandu while the rest readied themselves for bed, unrolling bedrolls and setting up watch with Cloud taking the first shift.

"There is a saying," Galvin turned again to Ramza, his eyes smiling, "'Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift. That is why we call it the present.' Be glad of what you have now for what you have found yesterday may be gone tomorrow."

He stood then and turned without further word to walk back to the fire where he drew his sword and began to oil the blade. Ramza sat a moment longer, gazing across the sands toward the peaks once more before returning himself, feeling somewhat relieved, and able to engage in conversation with Delita and the others with less likelihood of revealing his fears and doubts about tomorrow.

There was no reason to.

* * *

The road to Bethla was slow going, the trail heavy-laden with snow. The flakes had begun to fall early in their ascent, the morning sun hiding behind a bank of dark clouds that had gathered overhead. The snow fell gently at first, but around noon, the wind began to howl in protest as they climbed ever higher, hurling the snow at the party like arrows, slowing them even more.

Despite the obstacle, Ramia was determined to reach the fortress before sunset. She plowed ahead through the deep snow, her chocobo ducking and struggling through the drifts, unknowingly fashioning a path for the others to follow.

By mid-afternoon, the sun poked tentatively through the overcast, then grew stronger, shining from a sword-blade sky to dance brilliant light over the drifts. It made their journey easier and more tolerant so that Ramza and Delita took the time to finalize the plan they had discussed last night before reaching the fortress.

From Lord Birch's letter, they learned that the keeper of Bethla Garrison, Lord Aral Rycroft, secretly supports Ivalice and its rightful ruler. But he cannot make known his allegiance with a few of the Church's subordinates on site. Thus was Rycroft's frustration.

And the group's as well as they tried to figure out a way to free Agrias without stirring the suspicion of the Church officials.

After much consideration, Raizen had come up with a plan: Ramza, Delita, and Orlandu would act as prisoners captured during the battle at Yardow while the rest pretended to be an escort party assembled by the magistrate of the city. They prayed that news of the fall of Yardow had not traveled this far if the Prince's plan was to succeed.

As Bethla loomed ahead, alternately lit and shadowed as the cloud played games with the sun, preparations were already made. An angled glacis ran up to the gates, turning back on itself so that any approaching force would be slowed. When they crested the ascent, they found the gates to be open.

Ramia studied the fortress as they approached slowly, wondering why no sound came from it: neither shouts nor clanking of armor, only a silence that seemed to fill up the bleak day as if with clarions of alarm. She looked to the walls and found them devoid of patrolling knights, the sentry post just the same.

"There's something wrong here."

Ramia scowled at Galvin and then at the fort: "I know and I'm going to find out what." She heeled her chocobo forward.

"Wait!" Galvin shouted, muttering a curse afterwards as he rode after her.

"Stubborn one, isn't she?" Raizen remarked while cutting his father's bonds. It seemed they would have to abandon their earlier plan in light of the current situation.

Ramza sighed and shook his head, muttering, "She is her mother all over again."

He remembered the time when he had first met the Holy Knight at Orbonne Monastery and how she had charged out the door at the news of the enemy's arrival. With no regard for her safety, she had rushed blindly into danger much like Ramia had awhile ago. He suddenly chuckled softly at the memory despite the dire situation that faced them.

Delita frowned at Ramza. "I don't find this particularly amusing."

"I'm sorry, Delita," the Beoulve apologized with a grin. "Ramia reminds me of her mother that I cannot help but laugh at the coincidence. Despite being raised by a different family, she still turned out to be an Oaks after all."

"Yes, that's reassuring to know," Lavian agreed.

"But what do we do now?" Mustadio questioned. "Ramia and Galvin have already gone to the fortress."

As if in reply, Alicia galloped past the group and into the opened gates of Bethla, her long auburn hair trailing behind her like wisps of fire, a fiery demon ready to scorch her enemies.

"Alicia!" Lavian called after her, urging her chocobo forward to follow the taciturn knight.

"It's unwise to follow," Ramza halted her.

"But what choice do we have?" Lavian argued, as she turned her mount around to face the group.

"What choice indeed…" Orlandu murmured into his beard, looking to the fortress, his eyes narrowed as if trying to see through its thick walls.

He studied the situation carefully, from the entrance of the gates at which they stood to the end of the long passage where it emptied into the courtyard. He then gazed up at the ramparts where pennants and standards fluttered in the cold air. When the sun managed to peek through the clouds, he thought he saw a faint glimmer among the battlements, as if light striking metal, but dismissed it to the poor vision of his old eyes.

"This smells like a trap," Cloud commented from behind. "It's too quiet."

"I agree with Cloud," Wolfen nodded, motioning to the sky. "The birds have fled and my mount feels uneasy."

Orlandu also agreed with their assumption, having concluded from his careful study that this indeed was a trap. He turned to Ramza and asked, "What do you want us to do?"

Ramza gripped the reins of his chocobo, eyes glaring with resolution as he stared at the fortress. "As Lavian said, what choice do we have?" He then looked to the old knight. "Let us proceed, but with caution."

Caution, however, proved to be unnecessary when a cry of surprise echoed throughout the fortress accompanied by angry shouts and warks of startled chocobos.

"No!" Ramza gasped in disbelief as he drew his sword and charged towards the gates.

The others followed him, drawing weapons as they passed through the entrance, wondering what they would find at the end of the hallway leading to the courtyard.

As soon as the last member of the group entered the passage, a portcullis slowly lowered to block any escape if they were to retreat. None noticed this new danger, their attention focused to the battle ahead, until they heard it collide with the floor, securing it in place.

"Just as suspected," Cloud stated in a cool voice as the group took a brief glance behind. "A trap."

"All we can do now is go forward," Ramza declared solemnly, praying that they would overcome this trap just like the others they had endured during the Lion War.

* * *

"What is the meaning of this?" Ramia demanded, raising her shield to deflect an arrow. "An attack?"

"More like an ambush," Galvin muttered, repelling the sudden rain of arrows with expert swings of his sword.

When they had arrived at the fortress' courtyard, they found it to be empty. Ramia had shouted for the keeper, but there was no answer. She had been about to dismount to search for him when Alicia arrived.

And that's when the attack began.

Ramia cursed under her breath. Any longer she, Galvin, and Alicia stayed out in the open, the likelier an arrow will find its mark.

A flash of white light, so intense it seemed that the sun itself had fallen from the heavens, suddenly surged through the courtyard, leaving Ramia, Galvin, and Alicia paralyzed and half-blind. Ramia cursed her enemies for using such a cowardly trick, expecting the next arrow to take her down.

Instead, she heard a sharp blast followed by a pained cry. Curious, she tentatively opened her eyes. The light was gone, but her vision remained impaired, bright spots dancing before her eyes.

"Damn it!" she heard Galvin curse somewhere to her right. "What's going on? I can't see!"

The fortress was in uproar, the clash of swords and the clanking of armor ringing in Ramia's ears. She held tight to the reins of her skittish mount, lest she fell and got trampled, as she tried to figure out what was happening, blinking several times to clear her vision so she could get a better understanding of the situation.

"Heavenly wind, carry us to fountain of power! Esuna!"

Like the morning mist lifting in the breeze, Ramia's vision cleared, and the sight unnerved and appalled her.

When they were first attacked, she had not gotten a good look at their enemies. To see Rycroft's men attacking her party stunned her, but to see her own men—the same men who had followed her to Yardow and had retreated—among them nearly drove her to the brink of rage. She gave a hoarse cry of outrage and fury, then drew her sword from its scabbard. As she was about to charge into the fray, someone yelled:

"Ramia!"

The Holy Knight turned to see Ramza approaching on foot, his swords drawn, his features grim. He was followed by Delita, Raizen, Orlandu, and Lavian, their weapons readied, and their expressions just as grim as the man that led them.

"Are you all right?" Ramza asked when they finally caught up with her.

"What do you think?" she snapped, displeased at this interruption. She glared briefly at the source of her frustration, namely the battle taking place.

Ramza nodded in understanding. The battle needed to end, and quickly for they were sorely outnumbered. "We must find Lord Rycroft," he stated. "I doubt that he's behind this attack."

"Agreed," Galvin concurred, as he dismounted from his chocobo. "Shall I search for him?"

"_We_ shall search for him," Ramza corrected, "except for you three." He looked to Ramia, Lavian, and Alicia.

"I'd rather fight and beat an explanation for this ambush from one of my former men," Ramia growled, clutching the reins of her mount as if preparing to charge into battle.

"You'd rather punish your men than rescue your mother?"

Ramia's grip immediately loosened in answer to Ramza's question, remembering why they had come to the garrison in the first place. She sighed, forcing herself to calm down before dismounting her chocobo. She then looked to the right of the courtyard, to an opening within the wall of the fortress. "Lavian, Alicia," she called over her shoulder, pointing her sword towards the opened doorway, "let's go!"

Ramza watched as the two female knights followed their ward. After a moment, he turned to Galvin. "Lead the way," he urged.

Galvin nodded. Taking the lead, he led the group across the courtyard to two iron doors, away from where Ramia and her knights had disappeared into the fortress.

* * *

"Heaven's wish to destroy all minds… Holy Explosion!"

Knights screamed as a searing light shone from above, scorching skin and blinding eyes. As the light faded, they shouted in confusion, swinging their swords blindly about them.

Ramia pushed and shoved her way through the disoriented knights. "Hurry!" she compelled her two companions. "This way!"

Lavian and Alicia fought their way through the wave of knights surging up the staircase that led down to the dungeons. They hadn't expected resistance on their way to the prison. The sudden confrontation only served to confirm their suspicion that this was a well-planned trap. Someone knew that they would try to rescue Lady Agrias. Who and how, however, will be determined once Ramza's group found the keeper of the fortress.

Ramia did not think of such thoughts, her mind only set with one goal. "Out of my way!" she cried out in fury, casting Holy Explosion upon her enemies once more, her only useful skill in such narrow a passage.

If she had been more attentive, Ramia would have realized that the knights she fought were not Rycroft's, but her own. On the other hand, Lavian noticed the distinction as they fought through a third wave of knights. She wondered what this portended, as it seems to be an indication of the severity of the knights' betrayal to their former commander. Perhaps Ramia's earlier comment about beating an explanation from one of her men has its merit.

"Alicia! Guard her back!" she instructed her companion, who surprisingly had not succumb to her uncontrollable rage yet.

The redheaded knight nodded, swinging her sword around in two-handed, powerful arcs.

Turning to the knight nearest her, Lavian quickly unarmed him and pinned him to the stone wall with her shield. "Why are you here?" she demanded him, pushing him against the wall as if she sought to crush him. "Who sent you?"

The knight smirked. "It's for us to know and for you to find out," he replied haughtily. "That is if you can reach the bottom of this staircase alive." He began to laugh then and Lavian quickly silenced him with a crushing blow to the jaw with her shield, knocking him out.

She stared at the unconscious knight for a moment, trying to fit this new piece of information to the puzzle that was this ambush. Something about this rescue mission didn't seem right, as if they were the pawns of an elaborate chess game.

With this thought in mind, she ran after her companions, troubled about this new information. She found them almost at the bottom of the stairwell, fighting through the few remaining knights.

She joined them as blades clashed, as bodies heaved and shoved, climbing down the few remaining steps to the bottom.

As soon as she set foot on the bottom floor, Ramia immediately advanced towards the door of her mother's cell, shouting, "Mama!"

The way to the cell was clear until a black-robed figure appeared suddenly, intercepting her path, blocking her way.

Ramia skidded to a halt, recognizing the jailer instantly. "Stand aside!" she demanded with a wave of her sword.

The jailer did not comply, only stood there unmoving.

Ramia, angered by his silence, pointed her sword towards him. "If you're not going to move," she pulled her blade back, "then I shall just have to cut you down!" With a roar, she charged, intent on bearing down the jailer before her shield.

"Earth's anger running through my arms!" the jailer began.

Unfamiliar with the chant, the Holy Knight continued to rush, unknowing of the danger.

"Earth Slash!"

The jailer fell to one knee as he pounded the floor with his fist. A surge of energy rushed towards his enemy, crumbling stone as it flowed through the ground.

"Ramia, watch out!" Lavian shouted, pushing her ward out of the way, taking the full brunt of the attack. She was flung back, skidding to a halt a few feet away.

"Lavian!" Ramia called out to her.

Alicia growled a challenge. Gripping her sword in both hands, she lunged at the jailer.

He remained still for what would appear too long. Then the jailer shifted, fluid as a cat, darting the three paces needed to bring him inside the knight's slash, her sword already descending. Using her own momentum against her, the jailer grabbed her arm and threw her over his shoulder, sending her crashing against the wall. As she collapsed, the jailer spun round just in time to avoid Ramia's sword.

Ramia growled in frustration, bringing her sword back for another swing.

The jailer lashed out with his feet; first one, then the other, striking Ramia in the gut.

She grunted as she took a few unsteady steps back before crumpling to the ground, clutching her injured belly. She had not expected such an attack and now faced a dilemma. Though her opponent was unarmed, he was a skilled fighter, defeating his opponents in but a few moves. She wasn't trained to fight monks nor was she familiar with their fighting style.

As she recovered, the monk spoke as he removed his hood: "Pity. I had expected more from a Holy Knight."

The torchlight revealed a pale face, framed with shoulder-length hair, the color of milk. He wore a white headband stitched with the symbol of a cross and a rose about his head. But what caught Ramia's attention were his eyes.

"You're blind…" she whispered in awe, seeing that they were vacant.

He nodded, his expression stern. "That I am." He then cocked his head to one side, as if in curiosity. "Is that strange?" he asked, his tone mocking. "To be beaten by a blind man?"

Ramia's eyes flashed dangerously at the insult. "I'm not beaten yet!"

She snatched up her blade and flung herself at the blind monk. The sword's blade glowed in the torchlight, as if in anticipation of the holy power that its wielder commanded to flow again. However, this proved to be not a contest of force, but of skill, the Holy Knight relying more on the sword techniques her grandfather had passed to her than the power she had been blessed with upon her knighting.

The narrow passageway restricted her movements somewhat, her sword too long to swing properly. Instead of slashes, she relied on thrusts, but that too proved difficult for the monk was light on his feet. Despite his handicap, he was able to 'see' her next move, evading her attacks with ease.

"You rely on your sword too much," he scoffed, clapping his hands to catch Ramia's descending sword between the palms, countering with a sidekick to the same spot where he had kicked her before.

"You're right," Ramia agreed with a smirk, as she blocked his kick with her shield, much to his surprise. Aware of the monk's pull on her weapon, she let go of the blade, pitching him off-balance, and rushed him with his shield.

With a surprised cry, the monk fell back. He struggled to rise, but his robe hampered his movements. All struggles ceased, however, when he felt the bite of cold steel upon his flesh. Sightless eyes turned towards his adversary, who held her sword against his neck.

"I'll say it again," Ramia whispered threateningly, moving her sword closer to the monk's neck, "stand aside."

He nodded slightly, careful as not to slice his throat with the movement, acknowledging his defeat.

"Lavian! Alicia!" Ramia called to her companions without taking her eyes off the fallen monk. "Are you two all right?"

Alicia grunted in reply, seeming unhurt, and surprisingly, still sane.

"I'll be fine with a potion or two," Lavian grumbled, favoring her shield arm as she walked towards Ramia. "Of all the magic I did not master, it has to be the one most important," she muttered angrily to herself.

"Watch him," the Holy Knight ordered the both of them, indicating their enemy, before marching to the cell door where her mother had been imprisoned all these years. To finally free her nearly brought tears of joy in her eyes. She severed the lock and kicked the door open.

"Mama!" she shouted as she barged into the small room.

"Ramia!" a voice called out from the darkness in apparent disbelief.

Her heart seemed to stop when she heard the voice. "Lord Rycroft?" she whispered uncertainly, hoping that it was a trick of the mind that caused her to hear the keeper's voice.

"Ramia, you must get out of here!" the keeper advised as he emerged from the darkness. Save for a few smudges on his tunic, he appeared unharmed. But his eyes and the desperate tone in his voice when he spoke told Ramia otherwise.

"Lord Rycroft!" she exclaimed, her tears of joy suddenly turning to those of anguish, as she grasped the keeper's shoulders. "What are you doing here? Where's my mother?"

"There's no time to explain!" the keeper returned as he pushed her out of the cell. "You must hurry to Golgorand!"

"Golgorand?" Ramia repeated, staring at the keeper incredulously. "You don't mean that…" She shook her head, unable to finish the thought.

Rycroft nodded gravely. He then looked to the monk, who had begun to laugh.

Lavian and Alicia had been able to secure him, his hands tied behind his back as he sat on the stone floor, Alicia's sword just inches away from his neck. "You're too late!" he jeered. "She'll be executed within the week! You'll never reach her in time!" He laughed again.

Ramia clenched her sword, angered at this information. "Silence him!" she ordered Alicia.

The monk's laughter was cut short by a harsh blow to the face.

* * *

Ramza's group glared at the warden, who smiled smugly as he stood in front of the fireplace, the flames seeming to emphasize the wicked glow in his eyes.

When they had arrived at the keeper's chamber, they had expected to find Rycroft directing a few knights. But instead, they were greeted by a lone figure; the warden who was in charge of watching the prisoner.

Which caused Galvin to wonder what he was doing here instead of down in the dungeons.

He had gotten his answer when Lars explained the whole situation to them that this was a trap to capture the rest of the heretics. And to make matters worse, the bait that was used to set this trap had gone to Golgorand to be executed.

"The Cardinal was wise to use the heretic's daughter as the catalyst to spring this trap," Lars smirked. "You have eluded us since the hunt had begun fifteen years ago. But tonight, that will end. None of you shall escape." He snapped his fingers.

The room was suddenly surrounded by knights that were hidden within the chamber. A few blocked the door while the rest advanced towards the group, their swords brandished, waiting upon the warden's order.

Ramza counted ten knights and, no doubt, more waiting in the corridors of the fortress if they managed to escape this chamber. But escape they must if they were to save Agrias in time.

Lars grinned widely, sensing their fear and desperation. "Arrest them!" he ordered the knights.

Ramza brought his Ragnarok out in a sweeping cut that gutted the closest soldier, pushing him back against his fellows as his companions applied their blades until the battleground was even.

Or so they thought.

"Smoldering flames far below, punish the wicked! Firaja!"

The warden turned both hands, palms outward, toward the group, a great flood of fire, a tidal wave of flame, roaring towards them.

"I don't think so!" Ramza shouted in denial of the warden's inferno, as he flung himself before the others, using himself as a shield. "Everyone, scatter!" He pushed Delita and Raizen away when they refused while Orlandu pulled Galvin a safe distance.

"What are you doing?" the Limberrian demanded, struggling to free himself from Orlandu's grasp, which was surprisingly strong for his old age. "He's going to be burned down!"

"No, he's not, boy!" the old knight stated, grimacing as he tried to calm the knight and fight his enemies at the same time. "His armor protects him. Now help me clear a path for our escape!"

Galvin helped the old knight forge a path, but he looked back every so often to see what had become of Ramza.

Flames engulfed the Beoulve's frame, seeming to immolate him, but the fires did not harm him. His expression was one of concentration as he crossed his swords in front of him. The flames suddenly surged around the blades, converging at one point, forming into a huge ball of fire. With a shout, he swung his blades apart, the surge of fire that had been aimed for him now returning to its caster.

"No!" Lars screamed, stepping back with uplifted hands, his ghastly features contorted as he sought to ward off his rebounded spell. But no protective spell could save him as that ball of flame consumed him, filling the air with a charnel stink. He screamed, a wail of anguish that seemed to echo throughout the fortress, as he writhed in agony, his body withering.

Taking pity on the man, Ramza quickly ended his suffering with a swing of his sword. The screams ceased, yet it still seemed to echo in the silence that followed. If he was aware of the stillness, he gave no sign as he stared at the burning corpse, the fires dying down, leaving only a blackened husk.

The fighting had ceased, the knights unsure of what to do now with their leader dead. The roles were now reversed as Delita and the others advanced towards them, seeking to press the advantage of their confusion.

The knights backed away until they were in full retreat. Without a commander to lead them, they were as lost as sheep without a shepherd. The others were going to follow, but Ramza stopped them.

"Let them go," he said faintly, sheathing one of his swords. "We've wasted enough time here already."

"Indeed," Orlandu agreed grimly. "We must leave for Golgorand now if we are to have any chance of rescuing her."

"We will save her, Orlandu," Ramza declared in resolution. "There's no doubt about that." He then motioned to the warden's blackened corpse, adding:

"Agrias will not suffer the same fate."

* * *

Mustadio growled under his breath. "What's taking Ramza so long? And Ramia? This battle should have been over by now." He shot a knight in the hand, disarming him.

"Something has gone awry," Malak stated grimly. He swung his weapon in sweeping arcs, giving the Engineer enough time to reload his gun. "But we need to keep fighting until they return. We need to keep our enemies occupied."

"Easier said than done," the Engineer muttered, leveling his pistol to shoot at the enemy again.

"Yame!" someone bellowed, a thunderous roar that forced the knights to stop in their tracks. Many lowered their blades while several others looked about in confusion, including Mustadio and his friends.

Then someone yelled, "Lord Rycroft!"

The keeper stood near the entrance to the dungeons, where he had emerged to find a battle raging. Ramia, Lavian, and Alicia stood in a protective circle around him for he was unarmed, fearing that someone might attack him.

Rycroft spoke again in that strange language, sounding as if he was giving an order.

Those who had lowered their blades, raised them again, but now they were pointed in the opposite direction, away from Mustadio and the others, but at other knights.

"Knights of Lesalia," the keeper called, "lay down your arms and surrender and mayhap your commander will be lenient with you." He motioned to Ramia, who stood in front of him.

"Lord Gyle is our commander," one of them declared, his voice a sneer as he added, "not that whelp."

Ramia's face darkened. "So, Gyle planned on betraying me from the beginning," she murmured. "Why am I not surprised?" She then turned to the keeper and said, "I leave them to you, Lord Rycroft."

"Of course," the keeper nodded. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes as he turned to the Lesalian Knights. "I offer you a final chance to surrender. You need not throw away your lives in a pointless battle."

"We have our orders," a young knight claimed. "As long as the warden leads us, we continue to fight."

His fellows shouted in his favor, raising their swords to the air with a cry before surging forward to engage the enemy again.

Rycroft's men, as well as Mustadio's group, tensed as the fighting resumed…

…only to be thrown into further confusion as the two iron doors to the keep burst open from a flood of fleeing knights, all shouting that the warden was dead. Ramza appeared then, his friends behind him. The Beoulve's armor was scorched, his sword as bloodied as his companions.

"Put down your weapons!" Ramza shouted. "There's no reason to continue this fight."

"Heretic!" spat one. "As long as you remain free, there will always be a reason to fight."

Lesalians clashed with Limberrians and Zeltennians while those that had fled the keep turned back to attack the group of heretics behind them.

"Ramza, we must leave now!" Delita roared amidst the chaos.

"I know!" Ramza shouted as he tried to fight his way to the gates, but the enemy was intent on cutting off their escape route, promising to avenge the warden's death. Fortunately, their enemy was busy fending off Rycroft's men, who sorely outnumbered them.

"Let's get out of here!" he shouted once they broke through the enemy line, signaling to the rest of his companions to follow him to the gates where their chocobos waited.

Ramia saw his signal. "Lord Rycroft, we must be going. Will you be all right?"

"Don't worry about me," the keeper assured her. "Go and save your mother."

Ramia smiled and nodded her thanks. Sword in hand, she ran for the gates, Lavian and Alicia following closely.

Rycroft watched as they mounted and rode through the gates. "Godspeed, all of you," he whispered before taking part in the battle for his fortress.

* * *

Zaland Fort City.

An aerial city built on a hill, it served as the entryway to the province of Lionel. Being on a hill, it also served as the first line of defense against invasion of the province, ever watchful of approaching danger. It housed a garrison of about one-hundred men just enough to fend off the enemy while a rider took word to Lionel Castle. If Zaland were to ever fall, the enemy would have a clear path to the capital of Lionel for not only did it serve as an entryway to the province, but also the entryway to Lionel Castle.

Fortunately, in their long history, misfortune had not descended upon them even during the Fifty Year War and the Lion War. The people acclaim this to God's divine protection upon the land for Lionel was governed by the Glabados Church. As long as men of faith led and defended them, they had nothing to fear.

And so the people of Zaland rejoiced when the Cardinal's party entered their city, the streets lined with people as an escort of soldiers from the city's garrison guided the party, hoping to catch a glimpse of their benevolent leader who has finally decided to come home for Lionel was the province ruled by Cardinals.

Jaren rode besides the driver of his carriage, smiling and waving at the people, enjoying his reception into the city. He shouted blessings upon them even so much as stopping to lay hands on the sick and the elderly.

From within the carriage, Agrias grimaced in disgust at the priest's display, knowing beneath that benign exterior lied a heart as black as coal, that his expression of love for his people was all but an act to fool them from his true intentions.

"He makes a charismatic figure, doesn't he?"

Agrias turned away from the window to glare at the speaker.

Gyle sat opposite from her, his arms crossed as he answered her glare with a smirk. He then turned to look out the window. "They adore him, don't they?" He watched the procession as it wound its way to the city square, the people continuing to cheer as they came to a stop in front of the church where the garrison commander stood waiting with the church's head minister and the city magistrate.

The roar of the crowd seemed to grow louder as Jaren disembarked the carriage with the help of the driver. He raised both hands in the air, smiling as he acknowledged the people before turning to meet with the city officials.

"Your Excellency," the magistrate greeted, his florid features brightening with a smile as he bowed, "welcome to Zaland Fort City."

"I am pleased," Jaren replied, which brought smiles to all three figures.

"We have received a letter from the warden at Bethla Garrison informing us of your coming," the garrison commander said, gray eyes peering from beneath craggy brows. "I am sure you and your men would welcome hot water and rest. And tonight there will be a banquet to celebrate your arrival."

"There are also priests here anxious to meet you and it would be an honor if you would preside over the evening mass," added the head priest.

Agrias never thought to see Jaren smile so widely that it seemed his face would split in two. She couldn't hear what he was saying, as she watched him shake hands with each of the city officials before gesturing towards the carriage. The garrison commander then barked an order and a couple soldiers approached the vehicle.

"Time to make your entrance," Gyle remarked, pushing Agrias through the door as it opened.

The two soldiers pulled her out roughly by the arms, and despite her struggles to look dignified, they managed to force her to kneel in front of Jaren and the officials. Save for Jaren, all sneered in contempt at the pitiful figure.

With a sharp gesture of his arm, the garrison commander shouted, "Take her to the wall!"

"The wall?" Gyle repeated in curiosity, as he watched the two soldiers practically drag Agrias across the square.

"The wall is our form of punishment here in Lionel," the garrison commander explained. "It's much like your pillories except the criminals are not confined within wooden planks. They are chained to the city's wall, fully exposed to the elements and the people's scorn and punishment by means of throwing stones. There have been some incidents in which these criminals died during such stoning. The punishment of the wicked is a matter we take very seriously here in Lionel."

Gyle winced inwardly. It was a more severe form of punishment unlike the insults endured by the pilloried. Public scorn he understood, but public punishment especially by the people of the city was entirely different. He had thought that the ridicule of the people would be enough to punish a criminal, but to suffer punishment by the hands of the citizens instead of an official gaoler was a new concept.

"It may sound barbaric," Jaren said as if he read Gyle's thoughts, "but it dates back to the time of St. Ajora and his followers when it was a common form of punishment."

"But restraint must be exercised lest they kill her before she reaches Golgorand," Gyle warned him.

"Agreed," the Cardinal nodded. "Sir Davyd Black," he gestured to the garrison commander, "knows of our mission and has advised his soldiers of such. You need not worry."

"Of course," Gyle bowed to his superior's wisdom. He then followed him as the magistrate led them to his mansion where rooms have been prepared for the both of them. He glanced at the crowd and saw that it had thinned somewhat. Perhaps they headed to the wall where they would 'punish the wicked', as Sir Black had said. The image of Agrias being pelted with pebbles brought a smile to his face.

He envied these people who were as equal as the judges in Lesalia. To decide the fate of a criminal was a powerful right and to exercise it without abandon a privilege. It's no wonder that Lionel had not fallen to any enemy.

Men of faith not only protected the land from without, but from within as well.

* * *

Zirekile Falls.

A breathtaking sight to behold, these beautiful falls flow from Mount Algost along stair-shaped cliffs, their thunderous roar a precursor to their natural beauty. Many travelers who passed through would always pause and gaze at their majesty, as if its flowing waters soothed them as they cascaded down the cliffs to a slow-moving river below. With such a busy point of travel, the land around the falls was full of trails, making it difficult for two hunters to discern the quarry they sought.

Ramza watched as Malak knelt by the remnants of a campfire while Wolfen searched the trampled ground for signs. What signs those are, however, the Beoulve could only guess.

The Tenaktwan moved about, eyes downcast, casting wider afield until he found the tracks of what seemed to be a carriage angling to the south. As he followed them, he noticed a number of talon-prints accompanying the tracks. He knew then that he had found their target's trail.

Soon after, Malak rose from his examination of the campfire and both men went to report their findings to the others.

"I counted fifteen pairs of chocobo tracks, one of which is pulling a carriage," Wolfen stated. "They are heading due south."

"From what I can judge from the campfire, they are a full day or more ahead," Malak added.

"I see…" Ramza murmured, his expression thoughtful.

Delita looked to him and said, "A carriage might slow them down."

"Perhaps…" the Beoulve allowed.

"We must keep going!" Ramia urged, still sitting on her chocobo, who pranced about impatiently, reflecting his master's feelings. "Carriage or not, they are still ahead of us!"

"Calm down," Orlandu said. "We must approach Lionel with caution. As you may well know, Lionel is governed by the Glabados Church and if we're seen and recognized, we will be overwhelmed. Unlike the other provinces, the people of Lionel take the Church's edicts very seriously. Isn't that right, Beowulf? Mustadio?" He looked to the two men, who nodded.

"To go against the Church's wishes is to risk being stoned to death," the former Temple Knight said, "by your own peers. Even we knights who served under the cross did not escape such punishment. We must tread carefully once we enter Lionel."

"Besides," Wolfen added as he brushed his chocobo, "our mounts are tired after that long ride. We should take this time to rest and come up with a strategy on how to approach Lionel."

"Agreed," Delita nodded.

For a moment it seemed that Ramia would protest, but common sense prevailed and she nodded in agreement, dismounting afterwards.

A fire was soon built and everyone gathered round, not in revelry as it had been back at the Bed Desert, but in council. The flames flickered over wearied faces as Beowulf made a crude map of Lionel, marking the cities with stones while the roads were represented with sticks.

"I doubt that Jaren would know that we are in pursuit of his party," Raizen stated, as Beowulf finished. "I think that would be some advantage to us."

"Indeed," Beowulf concurred. "There would be patrols in the countryside if any prisoners escaped. But the main problem is here." He pointed to a pebble with a slight point. "Zaland marks the entrance to Lionel. Once past the fort city, the land is all hills, which would help in our discretion."

"In other words," Orlandu muttered, "to enter Lionel is to enter through its one and only door."

"Exactly," Beowulf nodded. "And that will be no easy feat. Zaland sits atop a hill, therefore its advantage of having a clear view of the surrounding area. Our approach will be noted once we're in their sight."

"Is it easier to approach at night then?" Lavian asked.

"With this moonlight, I doubt it," Malak voiced, looking up at the half moon with a frown then shrugged and faced the others. "But it is the winter season, after all. We may be lucky if there will be some cloud cover during the night."

"Not being seen while approaching the city is one thing, but _entering_ the city without notice is another," said Mustadio.

"What do you suggest, Beowulf?" Orlandu inquired gently of the former Temple Knight, who thought a while before supplying a reply:

"Perhaps there is a way to enter Lionel without going through Zaland." He pointed around the rock that represented the fort city, saying, "A thick forest surrounds the hill. There are a few hunting trails, but other than a few hunters, none dare venture into the trees."

"Do you know the trails?" Ramza asked, in which the former Temple Knight replied, "No, but we do have some excellent trackers in our midst." He looked to Malak and Wolfen. "I'm sure they could lead us through the forest."

"And if we get lost?" Lavian voiced her concern then quickly added, turning to the two Tenaktwans, "Not that I'm doubting your abilities, of course."

Malak smiled. "You can rest assure, Lavian, that we won't get lost. Have I not demonstrated that during our venture to Fort Zeakden? Moreover, if there is the chance we do get lost, Wolfen can always ask a bird or two for directions."

"Is it decided then?" Ramia inquired.

Ramza nodded, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the map. "It's better than sneaking into the fort city, safer as well and perhaps quicker than taking the main road."

"Quite true," Beowulf concurred. "If we're lucky, perhaps we would reach Golgorand before the priest's retinue and set an ambush for them."

"Yes," Ramza said, "but we shall save that when the time comes. For now, let us catch whatever sleep we may for comes dawn, we shall press on towards Lionel."

* * *

Lionel Castle.

An old castle built to be the headquarters of the Holy Kingdom of Yudora, it had served as the former Cardinal's—Alphonse Draclau's—home. Since the late Cardinal's death, the castle has yet to welcome its appointed master. Despite its architecture being old, Lionel still remained an outstanding fortress. It was where St. Ajora was caught and imprisoned by the Yudora Empire after all before he was taken to his death at Golgorand.

The story of his capture was one of betrayal; the first of many that had taken place here in this old castle.

Agrias remembered the treachery she had endured when last she came to Lionel, which was three months before the Lion War had started. Cardinal Draclau had betrayed her and the Princess to the enemy when he had promised them his aid and protection. They thought they could trust him, being that he is a servant of God, but even men fall prey to greed and power no matter if they are holy and righteous.

It seemed the master of Lionel was the perfect successor to Draclau for they both shared the same views of power and greed. The image of Jaren brought a growl of disdain from Agrias, as she paced her prison cell.

Little did she know, it was the same cell her ward had occupied after she had been taken prisoner by the castle guards under the former Cardinal's orders.

Agrias found the chamber to be quite spacious and, due to a few barred windows high up along one wall, a bit drafty, holding her arms tightly about her to keep warm. The cold numbed her tired and pained body, the bruises and cuts from the stoning session she had received at Zaland two days ago still healing.

She sighed as she sat against the wall farthest from the door. There was neither bed nor straw mat, but that did not bother her as she stretched out on the floor. She suddenly felt very sleepy, the fatigue from the journey finally catching up to her weary spirit. As her eyes closed, she felt a kind and familiar presence envelop her in its warmth, like a much needed blanket that shielded her from the cold. And as she drifted to oblivion, she heard a gentle voice whisper:

_Rest, Agrias. Regain your strength for you shall sorely need it…_

Comforted by the presence, soothed by their voice, Agrias fell into a peaceful sleep, no longer plagued by the nightmares that had haunted her every night since her imprisonment.

* * *

"Is she dead?"

"Pray that she's not."

The guards' voices brought Agrias from slumber, bleary eyes opening to unfamiliar surroundings and unfamiliar faces. She quickly sat up, recognizing the two men to be the guards, wondering if they came to take her.

One of the guards sighed in relief while the other said, "Here," as he placed a plate of food before her.

She looked down at the plate then at the guards in confusion.

"Your morning meal," the one guard explained. "The Cardinal has to attend to some business today and so you will be staying. You will leave for the execution grounds tomorrow at dawn. Be glad you have one extra day to live." With that said, the two guards took their leave.

Agrias thought on the guard's words as she ate her meal. Though the food wasn't filling, she needed every ounce of her strength if she was to escape from Lionel. She had escaped once before, but that was with her sword and friends besides her. Now she was unarmed and alone, but that didn't deter her from planning an escape.

After finishing her meal, she stood up and stretched, feeling well-rested and determined, as she gazed about the chamber, hoping to find some sort of way of escaping.

There were many places to hide from the guards when they entered: against the recesses along the wall or behind the pillar by the door. But once they entered, then what? She has no weapon and attacking with bare hands was out of the question. She looked around again, pacing the cell, hoping to find something to use as a weapon, no matter how small it was. But she found none, and when she sat back down against the wall, she looked down at her empty platter. She stared at it for a while, seeing her reflection upon its gleaming surface…

Then it hit her.

Agrias picked up the plate—the _metal_ plate—seeing it not as a utensil for eating, but as the weapon she was seeking. It wasn't too big, but it was thick enough so that it wouldn't succumb to a blade easily. It was not the perfect weapon, but it would do. Now where to launch the ambush?

She looked again at her options: from the recesses on the wall to her right to the pillar by the door. Her gaze lingered on that pillar and knew that it was the best place to hide when the guards entered. Once they would pass through the door, she would move quietly behind them and strike. If she were to hide anywhere else, it would be difficult to ambush them without them seeing her first and raising the alarm.

Unless she attacked at night.

_Perhaps that would be the best time to escape_, she thought as she looked up at the high windows.

Faint sunlight streamed through the bars, bathing the cell in a soft glow. The shouts of men and warks of chocobos could be heard through the howling of the wind that blew around the castle; the clamor of a bustling fort city. It would be difficult to escape unnoticed with so many people around her, especially in her condition.

She frowned, as she touched a jagged cut slightly above her right eye, a mark of her status as an enemy of the Church. She wore several other marks: the stripes on her back from several lashings, a brand of the letter 'H' on her shoulder from an overzealous taskmaster, and the bruises and cuts from the recent stoning at Zaland. Such marks would mark her, making it easier to spot her among the many. Yes, night would be the best time to escape, the darkness affording her the protection she needed.

Deciding on this course of action, she leaned back against the wall and bided her time.

* * *

Jaren sat behind a round wooden table covered in purple cloth, listening to the reports from the various officials left behind to care for Lionel in his absence. The talk of trade rights and social events bore him, the province continuing to flourish even in his absence. But when it came for the leader of Lionel's Temple Knights to speak, it seemed not all matters were as prosperous as it seemed.

"Bervenia require more troops, Your Grace," he stated. "I've already sent as many as I could spare the first time around. If I send any more, Lionel will be left defenseless."

Jaren smiled in relief as well as to placate the commander. He had thought for a moment that it was a serious matter, but it was nothing he couldn't handle, already knowing who to dispatch. "All is well," he said. "I think it's time to make good of Limberry's pledge to aid us. I will send a letter to Lord Birch, ordering him to deploy some of his knights to aid Bervenia. Also, I will send a letter to Bervenia, informing them that the reinforcements will be coming from Limberry lest they mistake them for the enemy. You need not worry."

The commander bowed in relief. "I thank you, Your Grace."

The Cardinal nodded. "It seems that all of you have been doing well in keeping order in this province while I'm away. I am very pleased, but I'm afraid you must continue looking after matters here until the business with the heretics is resolved."

"It's been fifteen years since then," the chancellor said, bowing as he added, "But we will serve you as long as it takes. The punishment of the wicked is paramount to the Church."

"Yes," Jaren agreed, as he rose from his chair, bringing the meeting to a close. "Now breakfast, I think. Would you care to join me?"

The two men accepted his offer, saying that it would be an honor to dine with his lordship. Jaren could not help, but smile at the praise as he led them to the dining hall where breakfast had been prepared by the castle's servants.

The meal went by smoothly, their conversation pleasant as they exchanged news on a more personal level, the Cardinal inquiring about their families, to which the two men assured their lord that they were doing well.

Soon, the commander excused himself from the table. "I must tend to the Lesalian Knights," he explained. "I'm sure they would want to visit the town. With your permission, Your Excellency?"

"Granted," Jaren replied. "Make sure they're back by the end of the day and have Gyle attend me once done."

"As you will." The commander bowed before taking his leave.

"What about your lordship?" the chancellor inquired once the commander left. "Will you be visiting the town as well?"

"Actually," the Cardinal sipped his wine, "I was hoping you'd show me around this castle. I would like to fully assess the situation here though I doubt anything is afoot."

"Of course, Milord," the chancellor acquiesced with a nod of his head.

After drinking one last cup of wine, Jaren rose from his chair, and with a smile and a motion of his hand, he invited the chancellor to lead the way.

Both men toured the grounds, Jaren pointing out some things that needed changing and the chancellor taking careful notes on a piece of parchment. They went to the garrison next where they met with the commander once again.

"Milord!" the commander greeted when he caught sight of him. "What brings Your Excellency to this riotous place?"

"His Excellency has come to inspect the grounds," the chancellor spoke for the Cardinal. "I'm sure you don't mind if we take a look around?"

"Please, by all means," the commander granted with a wave of his gloved hand.

"Thank you." Jaren strolled past him, looking around at the various buildings. The chancellor didn't know this, but there was another reason why he had decided to come here. In one of these buildings housed the dungeons. He meant to learn the condition of his prized prisoner from one of the guards on duty.

"All is well, Milord," the guard replied, as he stood to attention. He was quite surprised when the Cardinal had approached his post at the door that led to the prisons, and privileged when he had asked him a question. "From what I gather from the others, she's been sitting quietly in her cell. Perhaps she is making her prayers."

"Perhaps," Jaren allowed. Satisfied with the answer, he thought it best to return to the main part of the castle to rest and to prepare for the journey that would mark Lionel's first execution since the death of the Astrologist, Olan Durai.

* * *

The waiting was hard. Agrias sat on the stone floor for most of the day, watching as her cell grew brighter with the day's passing. When it was at its brightest, a guard came in to provide her lunch. She ate and resumed her observance of the light that streamed through the windows, the shadows lengthening into mid-afternoon.

Then it was time.

It was almost dark when she took her position behind the pillar, her weapon in hand. She waited and just as the light diminished, a guard entered, platter in hand. He seemed oblivious of the ambush awaiting him, as he placed the plate down at the middle of the cell. The chamber was dark, the only light coming from the opened doorway, and so he assumed that the prisoner was hiding within the shadows. So when he turned around to return to his post, he was met with an unexpected blow to the face.

Agrias smiled in grim satisfaction as she threw the plate aside. God knew, but she had wanted to do that for a long time. She then knelt by the unconscious knight and set on stripping him of his sword, cape, set of keys, helmet, and boots. She dared not take his armor for it may slow her escape. It's been fifteen years since she'd last worn armor and she doubted that she'd still be accustomed to its weight. Granted, the cape would be enough to disguise her and the helmet will somewhat hide her features. She quickly outfitted herself with her newfound attire and headed for the open doorway. She warily peeked out of her cell, hoping that none had heard the small disturbance.

The passage was clear and dimly lit, few torches lighting the hall beyond, but she was accustomed to such darkness as she stepped out and locked the cell door behind her. Few guards were posted along the hallway, their attention lax, seeing one of them yawn as she passed. Even without her disguise, she could have passed unnoticed.

It felt refreshing to walk freely again, and though she wore the colors of the Church, she almost felt like herself again, the knight that has been buried for fifteen years. She remembered Rycroft's words then that she is and would always be a knight as long as she had her honor. She was glad of his words for it held hope that she would return to being that knight. But first, she needed to escape from Lionel.

The hallway was long and ended with a stairway. She climbed without hesitation, but ever so cautious of more guards. The stairs led to the ground floor of the prison where smaller cells lined both sides of the building and ahead of her was a wooden door. If memory served right, it was the only entrance and exit to the prisons, guarded every hour of every day, ensuring that none of the prisoners escaped. If she could pass the guard without trouble, then she was free to make her way to the gate and then to…

_At least let me get that far_, she thought as she adjusted her helmet and wrapped the cape around herself to hide her bloodied robe. With a hand on her sword, she opened the door and stepped out.

Like the guards within the prison, the one on duty by the door paid her no heed as she walked past him. Sighing in relief, she halted a moment to familiarize herself with her surroundings.

By the light of the moon, she recognized that she was in the barracks. She heard laughter from a building to her right, off-duty knights enjoying their evening meal. As she walked along the street, the sound of chocobos warking softly came from a stable to her left.

Beyond the barracks was the square, an open expanse that joined both the castle behind her and the town before her, both surrounded by the thick walls that protected them. Agrias saw the avenue that led to the main gate and to her freedom, and hastened her way down that road.

* * *

After having dinner with the Cardinal, Gyle thought to unwind a bit before retiring, as he walked along the streets of Lionel. The evening was chill, rime shining bright on moonlit rooftops, ice glittering over puddles. The sky swept wide and starlit above the fortified city.

The streets were quiet, the cold driving the people to stay within their homes. He paused suddenly when he heard hurried footsteps echo along the avenue and wondered who would be out in such weather.

Those footsteps seem to grow closer and soon he saw a figure fast approaching him. He immediately recognized the Lionel guard by the red cape they wore wrapped tightly about their frame. He shouted a greeting to the guard, but they paid no mind as they darted past him with not so much as a glance.

Gyle grunted in offense as he watched the knight disappear into the shadows. "Well, good evening to you too," he growled before continuing on his way.

Now in a bad humor, he walked on aimlessly until the sound of chocobos brought him from his thoughts. He looked about and realized he was at the barracks of the castle.

A passing guard saw him and called out: "Lord Gyle! What are you doing here at this hour? Are you here to visit the prisoner?"

Gyle stood silent for a moment, still a bit shocked to find himself at the garrison. "Ah, yes," he replied a little uncertainly then with certainty when his shock wore off and the realization of the guard's question set in, said, "Yes, I'm here to see the prisoner. Thank you."

The guard nodded before running off to attend to some other business. Gyle walked on to the prisons where he was again greeted by the guard posted there. His mood lightened when he entered the prisons and made his way to the underground cells, the past offense with the one guard almost forgotten in light of the upcoming visit.

_A little amusement couldn't hurt_, he thought as he ordered a nearby guard to open the door to the cell. The door swung open and he entered followed by the guard who bore a torch.

Almost immediately, they saw the unconscious knight on the floor by the glint of his armor from the light. As the guard looked to the knight, Gyle gazed around the cell, knowing it to be in vain. He then went to the knight, who had regained consciousness, and demanded, "Where is she? Where is the prisoner?"

"I don't know," the knight grunted in reply, nursing a bruise that had formed on his brow. "I just set her food down and when I turned to leave, I was struck on the face. I don't know what happened after that."

Gyle growled in frustration as he rushed from the cell in pursuit of the escapee.

* * *

Agrias cursed her luck when she heard the bells ringing from the castle, knowing that the knights knew of her escape. She began to run towards the gate, which had begun to close in response to the bells, barring any escape for the prisoner.

It seemed she would make that daring escape again—the same escape she had made while running from Draclau's plot—as she drew her sword, and nearly stumbled with the weight. Yet, determination and the will to live lend her the necessary strength to wield the blade, as she charged at the knights protecting the gate, her sword held high in both hands.

The knights heard her roar, as she approached, looking bewildered to see that it was one of their own, indicative of the red cape she wore, wondering why she would dare attack them. Their confusion was to her advantage and before they could draw their swords to defend themselves, she quickly drove her blade deep beneath the closest man's ribs. She twisted the steel as she dragged it loose, striking the second guard across the face before a cry could escape his gaping mouth. As he staggered back, Agrias stabbed him in the belly, stepping past him to pull the lever down, reversing the gate's direction.

She darted through the archway and began to run across the bridge beyond, praying that no guards were posted on the upper wall, weaving as the horribly familiar hiss of arrows filled the air about her. She felt a blow against her back and faltered, almost pitching to her face, but righting herself and continuing her zigzag path as shafts thudded into the frozen ground around her. A second blow caused her to cry out as fire lanced through her shoulder and she felt the grate of steel head against bone.

Despite her wounds, she continued to run, realizing that she lurched, aware of warm moisture on her back, a painful shortness of breath. Her ribs seemed to clench against her lungs and the arrow protruding from her shoulder was a source of agony, but she was spurred by the shouting behind her, not looking back, determined to reach the safety of the forest ahead of her.

* * *

"Sounds like someone escaped from Lionel Castle," Beowulf commented when he heard the distant bells sound in the distance. The group was preparing camp when they heard the disturbance. "Should be better if we kill the flames. Best be on the lookout for patrols."

"Agreed," Ramza nodded. "Malak, Wolfen, Jovel," he turned to the three men, "scout the surrounding area, but with care. If you encounter any of the patrols, don't engage them, but report back to me."

The three men nodded in understanding before disappearing into the brush. "Mustadio," he then turned to the Engineer, "see if you can make out anything with that spyglass of yours."

"Of course," the Engineer replied, taking up the instrument. He climbed a tree and settled onto one of its branches, observing the immediate area with his invention.

"Looks like we'll be eating a cold dinner tonight," Delita remarked as he doused the flames, plunging the group into semi-darkness.

The group ate in silence, listening: the clanking of armor and a great deal of yelling, as if in frustration as the patrols combed the region.

Orlandu said, "It seems their target is leading them on a wild chase."

"They're leading them away from us, at least." Mustadio jumped down from the tree and joined the others, Raizen handing him a chunk of dried meat. After swallowing a piece, he said, "Torches are moving towards the south, towards Bariaus Valley; a number of patrols. Seems like the whole of Lionel is on the hunt for this one fugitive."

"That is strange in itself," Beowulf murmured. "With that many patrols, I doubt this escapee is no common criminal."

"Well," Ramza stared at the dense timber, "we'll find out once Malak and the others return."

* * *

It had not all gone as Agrias hoped—the Lionel Knights seemed to scour every inch of the forest. Twice she had been found and twice she had escaped, but not without taking a wound or two. Besides the two arrows at her back, a long gash ran from her shoulder to her elbow, another smaller cut at her side. She thought she could not go much farther; it seemed her lungs burned fiery as she gasped for breath, and her legs trembled with the effort. Her arm was useless now, her sword dragging along the forest floor, an easy trail for the knights to follow if they happen upon it. She thought she must likely stand and fight, and be dragged back to the castle, only to die a fiery, dishonorable death.

_No!_, she thought, stumbling, her weary legs tripping on a spreading root. She grunted a curse and clambered to her feet.

She waited there, listening to the clamor about her, no longer able to run. She would face her enemies, face them not as a cowardly criminal, but as one of them, a knight who did not fear death, but welcomed it. To die as a knight and in battle was the highest honor.

_It is a good night to die. _

She leaned against a tree, the torches of one patrol drawing near as they found the trail she had carved onto the earth. They soon came through the trees, and she welcomed them with a smile.

* * *

"It is as Mustadio says," stated Malak. "It's too risky to travel through this forest undetected with a big group as ours."

"Then what do you suggest?" Raizen inquired.

"To split up and meet at Bariaus Valley. I can see no other way."

"What I would like to know is why there are so many patrols about," Beowulf wondered aloud. "It seems unnecessary to send this many knights for one prisoner."

"From what I overheard from the knights' conversations," Jovel said, "the fugitive is a prized prisoner of the Cardinal's."

"The Cardinal?" Beowulf stared at him in disbelief. "I never heard a Cardinal being appointed since the death of Draclau."

"Perhaps his appointment was made in secret, lest another attempt is made on the Cardinal's life," Delita remarked. "It would only make sense that they would make such a precaution."

"If the escapee is a prized prisoner of the Cardinal's, then it would explain why there are so many knights on patrol," the former Temple Knight mused.

Just then Wolfen returned, his face a mask of worry. "Ramza, you should come and take a look at what I've found," he said in a rush.

Ramza nodded and made to follow the Tenaktwan, ordering the others to stay, but Delita would have none of it. "I'm going with you!" he insisted. "I'm curious to see what Wolfen has found."

"And I." Ramia stepped forward much to the group's surprise. "I don't know how, but I feel I must go with you."

"Four is enough to travel unnoticed," Orlandu said before any more volunteered to follow. "We will wait here."

Ramza agreed with the old knight's wisdom. He then urged Wolfen to lead them, following him through the brush.

"Look!" he exclaimed when they came to a part of the forest that seemed to be teeming with patrols, pointing to a broken arrow shaft. "And there!" A deep gouge snaked its way along the forest floor, as if something was being dragged.

Ramza knelt down and picked up the shaft, studying it.

"Should we follow the trail?" Delita asked him, his eyes following the scrape along the earth, which disappeared into the trees beyond.

"Yes." Ramza stood up and threw the shaft to the side. He then took the lead, drawing his swords when the sound of fighting reached their ears.

"It's close," Ramia whispered. "It seemed they have found their prisoner."

"Well, a prisoner of the Church is most likely to be on our side, no?" Delita wondered.

Ramia shrugged. "I suppose so."

"It's but a small group," Wolfen, who had went ahead to investigate the uproar, reported, "Eight or nine knights."

"For one prisoner?" Delita growled in disapproval. "That hardly seems fair."

"Since when did the Church act on fairness when it comes to their enemies?" Ramza muttered darkly. "Stand ready. We will help this person and teach the Church a lesson on fairness."

* * *

Agrias watched her enemies, as they spread about her like ravening wolves through the timber, closing in on her. Two already lied dead at her feet, a couple of fools who had underestimated her strength.

But that strength was waning, her vision blurring, her teeth clenching against the pain.

"Surrender!" one of the knights demanded. "This fight is unnecessary. Just return with us to the castle and we'll see that you're taken care of."

Agrias closed her eyes, seeming to concede to the knight's demands. _Please give me strength_, she prayed, not knowing to which deity she prayed to as she summoned that holy power that had been gifted to her a long time ago. And it hurt. It's been a while since she called on that power, forgetting that it drew on both the caster's strength and spirit. She nearly swooned, her strength failing, but she maintained a tight grip on her sword, the blade dimly glowing.

As she mouthed the incantation, a voice spoke it for her at the same time: "Life is short… Bury! Steady Sword!"

Agrias opened her eyes in time to see blocks of ice fall upon two of her enemies. The knights cried out in confusion at the ambush as four shadows darted among the trees. She watched in shock as one knight fell, a shaft embedded in his chest, wondering who her rescuers were as they dispatched all of the knights.

"You think they took the lesson to heart?" she heard one jest.

"More like to their grave," another replied.

"What's done is done," a third voice joined in. "Now let's see to who we saved, eh?"

Agrias was unsure of her rescuers, as they came forward. In the poor light, she could not make their expressions, therefore hesitant of their intentions, raising her sword threateningly.

"Mama!" one of the figures suddenly shouted, rushing forward.

Even in the weak light, Ramia recognized her mother, who fell into her arms, her strength finally spent as she closed her eyes in relief. "Mama! Mama!" Ramia continued to cry, lowering Agrias to the ground and cradling her head.

Ramza looked down in sympathy as he studied the shafts protruding from her back. One was lodged in her shoulder and the other jutted from her hip, above the waist. They weren't fatal shots, but with the gashes on her arm and side, she was bleeding her life away.

"Please hold on, Mama," he heard Ramia whisper. Then to his surprise, she turned to look at him, her cheeks streaked with tears. "Help her!" she urged him.

Ramza knelt down and gazed at her. "Do you trust me now, Ramia?"

"I trust you to save her life," was her choked response.

Ramza nodded. He then laid a hand over Agrias' heart. "Take my hand, Ramia," he instructed the Holy Knight, holding his other hand to her. "Our strength together will become her strength enough to sustain her until we can tend to her wounds safely." Ramia took his hand, and immediately he could feel her will for her mother to live.

_Live, Agrias_, he prayed, closing his eyes in concentration as he transferred both his and Ramia's vigor into Agrias, her body slightly glowing, minor cuts and bruises healing.

Ramza gasped when it was over, a little spent. "Are you all right?" he asked Ramia, who seemed as faint as he.

She shook her head. "Don't worry about me. Mama, is she…?"

"She'll live," Ramza replied. "I'll make sure of it." Recovered now, he lifted Agrias in his arms and turned to Delita and Wolfen. "The noise we made will likely bring more knights around this area. We'd best return to the others."

They agreed, following Wolfen through the trees, and all the while only one thought went through Ramza's mind:

_Live, Agrias! You must live!_

**Translation Notes:**

_-sama:_ an honorific  
_yame:_ stop, halt


	23. A Truth Revealed

**Chapter Twenty-Two: A Truth Revealed**

Magic City Gariland.

A city named for its famous Royal Academy of Magic, where war heroes like the Wizard Elidibs—a great magician who fought against the Romanda Army during the height of the Fifty Year War—were produced. It is also said that the King of Ivalice himself had studied at the academy, who later became the hero who brought an end to the Lion War.

And it seemed another unlikely hero will emerge from the academy, a man by the name of Braeden Gallows, Commander of Gallione's Hokuten Knights. He had graduated in the same class as the Lion War hero and had fought alongside him during their time together against the Death Corps. Though he thought himself only a dutiful and loyal knight serving his country, his men and the people of Gallione looked up to him as their hero—the knight who united them against the Church and who freed them from their control.

Tomas Varyn—the Divine Knight who was sent by Father Jaren to quell the rebellion at Gallione—saw Commander Braeden as a threat, watching as the Hokuten formed into ranks.

It's been more than two weeks since he had left on the Cardinal's order to quell the uprising at Igros, only to find out that the capital was all but lost and that the Shrine Knights were desperately making their last stand at Gariland. But the Hokuten was an elite knighthood, equivalent to that of the Nanten. Though he had the advantage of numbers with reinforcements coming in daily from their island headquarters in the south, Braeden knew the land better, knew how to deploy his troops to their advantage. Even with his tactical expertise, he knew that this battle was pointless.

"They're moving." Ash Blayke, the commander of the Shrine Knights stationed at Gallione, sat on his chocobo besides the Divine Knight. "It looks as if they divide their force."

Tomas grunted in reply, the comment reminding him of another problem he faced: division. Besides facing Braeden's force, there's also the possibility of an attack from behind from the instructors and cadets at the Royal Academy. Sources say that there's been some activity at the school, but nothing to warrant concern.

Tomas wasn't so sure about that.

Surrender, however, was not an option.

"We must hold them here, Ash," he stated with certainty.

Ash said, "We must do our best," thinking that sheer weight of numbers must surely overwhelm them. "God is on our side."

_Then why_, Tomas thought, _do the people suffer on our behalf? Is that also God's will? _But he said nothing, only watched as the battle standard of the Hokuten was raised to the blare of a trumpet.

"Here they come," said Ash, and Tomas nodded.

The trumpet blared again and the Hokuten charged.

* * *

The walls of Lionel Castle were built to withstand more than siege, and even in the depths of the blizzard as now gripped the countryside, they held out the worst of the cold.

The bleak weather seemed to mirror the Cardinal's disposition as he sat still at his desk in his office at Lionel Castle. The room was dark, lit only by two torches burning in sconces at either side of the entrance to his office, which he faced. He stared at those fires, the flickering flames reflected in his dark eyes.

He grabbed the decanter that sat at his elbow and poured himself a cup of his favorite wine. The motions were automatic, placing the flask down and taking a sip of the drink. A smile crept up his lips as he stared at his cup.

_Clever, Agrias_, he thought, setting the vessel down. _You may have managed to escape your execution, but I doubt you'll escape death._

Jaren stood from his desk and strode over to the window to gaze at the roaring blizzard. He could faintly hear the howling wind, seeing how strong it blew as snow constantly pelted the glass pane.

Upon the advent of the snowstorm, he had called off the search of the heretic, saying that the snows will bury her for them. No use wasting good men in such a menial task. Besides, she had been wounded while escaping, and with no one to aid her, her death was assured.

He continued to stare at the storm, savoring his small victory, and looking forward to an even bigger victory when he would return to Bethla. Though no news came of the success of his trap he had prepared there, he was confident that the rest of the heretics were already waiting for his judgment.

Yes, it had only been a matter of time before they would be captured. Patience was a virtue after all, and he had been patient for all of these years.

In the end, good things come to those who wait.

* * *

Bariaus Valley.

A barren valley south of Lionel Castle where St. Ajora's first disciple, Bariaus, had hid from the Yudora Empire. It is said that he had remained hidden for forty days after the death of his master, St. Ajora, before he was forced to leave when he was discovered by the Yudoran soldiers.

A fugitive on the run from the Empire, in a land where friends lived in the unlikeliest places where they succored him, as he spread St. Ajora's message, before meeting an untimely death at the hill that later bore his name.

History seemed to repeat itself; a party of fugitives took refuge in the same valley as Bariaus, but unlike the unfortunate disciple, they could not afford to stay for forty days.

Time was running out.

"She's lost a lot of blood." Orlandu's tone was somber, his eyes reflecting the sadness in his voice. "Beowulf and I have done all we could with what little magical ability we possess, and even with Mustadio's bag of potions, the treatment is temporary at best. We must take her to a healer if she is to have any chance of recovering."

"But where could we find a healer in a land that's against us?" Delita frowned. "We may as well surrender."

"And in such wolfish weather, it will be difficult to travel," Malak added. "She may not survive the journey."

The news was disheartening, but none could argue the truth.

"I regret that there is nothing more we can do," Lavian whispered, her voice quivering with grief. She paused to take a breath before asking, "Does Ramia know?"

Galvin shook his head. "Not yet, but…" He sighed. "I know that in her heart, she already knows."

"Where is she?" Raizen inquired as Malak stirred the fire, its light dancing over the group, warming their bodies but unable to thaw the coldness of despair that gripped their hearts.

Beowulf answered, "By her mother's side. It's only fitting she'd be there when…" His voice trailed away, unable to finish the sentence.

"Ramza is with her," Orlandu quickly inserted to fill in the silence that followed, "offering what little comfort he could give."

Lavian said, "That's for the best," and Alicia ducked her head in solemn agreement.

The conversation then took a sudden—and much needed—turn when a gust of wind blew into the cavern, the blanket strung up in a pathetic attempt to block out the elements pushed aside as the scouting party entered.

"In all my life, I've not seen such a storm as this!" exclaimed Wolfen as he came to sit by the fire followed by his two companions, Jovel and Cloud. "This land must truly be protected by the divine to create such a storm."

"It's not so bad," Cloud commented in his cool voice, and the Tenaktwan stared at him as if he were mad. The SOLDIER shrugged and said, "I've seen much worse."

"So the storm's that bad, eh?" Delita murmured, his eyes troubled.

Jovel nodded. "From the looks of it, the blizzard may last from a few days to a few weeks. It's dangerous to travel in such weather. Best we stay here until it clears."

"I see…" Delita's voice was full of remorse, the situation hopeless as it was. Lest the storm breaks soon, their journey would be for naught. He then sighed and looked farther into the cavern where another fire burned. If that fire died, then…

He sighed again, as he shook his head. "We don't have a few days or a few weeks. By then, it may be too late…"

* * *

Ramza felt a terrible pang of sorrow, as he watched Ramia spill some broth between Agrias' pale lips.

Beowulf and Orlandu had done the best they could in tending to her wounds. The two arrows had been removed, the wounds cleansed and bandaged. The same went for the slash along her sword arm, the gash deep and wide that it had been difficult to treat. The two men doubted that if she should live, she would not be able to have full use of her arm. What had worried them the most, however, was the cut at her side.

Agrias' robe had stuck to the wound, sealing it, preventing any more loss of blood. But upon examining the wound, it wasn't the question of how wide it was, but how deep the wound had penetrated. Unlike the gouge on her arm that was made by a sword, the wound on her side was made by a spear.

The wound was deep, and they wondered how Agrias still had the strength to run and fight with such an injury. Fortunately, the spear did not hit any vital spots, but the question still remained if she would survive.

Agrias did not appear to be suffering any pain as she slept on, oblivious of the world around her. It was strange to see her so peaceful when just days before she had been suffering.

Ramza soon noticed that Ramia's hands trembled, nearly dropping the bowl of broth. Hurriedly kneeling by her side, he caught hold of it.

"It's all right to cry, Ramia," he whispered, lifting the bowl in his hand. "There's no shame in it."

Ramia burst into tears then, no longer able to contain her sadness. "Why?" she sobbed brokenly. "Why did this have to happen? What went wrong?"

Ramza sighed, his heart wrenching at her sobs. "I'm sorry, Ramia," he murmured, reaching out a comforting hand to touch hers. "Both you and your mother have suffered much because of me."

Ramia shook her head, wiping away her tears. "No, you're not to blame. Jaren used both of us so he could get to you. Mama would still have been executed even if you and your friends were captured. I know that now, thanks to you. But…" Fresh tears began to pour down her cheeks as she clasped Agrias' hand, "I can't lose her now, Ramza! Grandpa just died a few months ago and if I lose Mama now, I lose the only family I have left."

"What about your father?" The question was spoken softly as Ramza stared into the fire.

The sniffles suddenly stopped. He looked at her and saw her eyes had hardened, her hands clenched into fists. "My father…" she sneered as she turned to stare at the fire, her eyes burning bright with suppressed rage.

"When I was very young, my mother told me that he was a great swordsman who followed his heart, fighting justice for others. She said that I should be proud of him." She then snorted. "Who would be proud of a father who abandoned his family? If he was truly a noble man, why didn't he defend Mama during her trial? Why did he run away?"

"Because he loves you both dearly."

Ramia grunted in disbelief. "Does he now?" she snickered. "That's hard for me to believe. If he loved us, then he wouldn't have left in the first place. No," she said with bitter sarcasm, "he left us because he's a coward!"

Ramza began to speak, to argue, but thought better of it. Instead, he said, "You should heed well to what your mother has told you. You disgrace her words by speaking ill of them."

Ramia's face flushed at his chiding, unable to dispute his claim.

"There is truth in what you say, however," Ramza continued, throwing a branch into the fire. "Your father is a coward to have left you, but he left to protect you."

"What do you mean?" Ramia asked in wonder. "Protect us from what?"

"Protect you both from danger." He felt Ramia's questioning gaze, prompting him to explain further. "During the Lion War, your father committed a terrible crime; a crime committed for the good of others. Your mother knows of this, of course," he added before Ramia had a chance to question him. "It is this crime that he left. He knew that if he stayed bearing such a sin, both of you would be in danger because of it."

Ramia remained silent for a time, absorbing the story, trying to make sense of it all. "So my father is a criminal…" she whispered, disappointment tinged with scorn.

"No, Ramia," Ramza countered. "Your mother was right in saying that your father is a noble man. He may be a criminal to most, but to some he is considered brave and just, a good man who sacrificed his nobility for the sake of others."

Ramia stared at Ramza, hazel eyes narrowed in suspicion. "How do you know these things?"

"I know because…" He hesitated, afraid of what her reaction would be, but when he looked at Agrias' pale face, he found the resolve to continue. Ramza fixed his gaze on Ramia, his eyes full of sorrow, understanding, and…love.

"…I am your father."

* * *

Wolfen was enjoying his cup of tea that Rae had brewed when he heard a loud commotion from the back of the cavern. Pausing between sips, he turned to look and was surprised to see Ramza on the ground, nursing his jaw.

"I don't believe you!" Ramia stood over him, her features livid, hazel eyes smoldering and mouth curled into a snarl. "I _won't_ believe you!"

Her shouting caught the others' attention, filling the cavern with a grim silence as they looked on in solemn understanding.

Ramia suddenly drew her sword and placed it against Ramza's neck.

"Ramia!" Lavian cried out in alarm. She was about to rush to Ramza's aid, but a firm hand held her back. Looking back, she saw Alicia, who shook her head once and said, "No interfere."

"She's right," Raizen agreed, stepping forward to get a better view of the sad event before turning to look at Lavian, who gazed at him questioningly. "Ramza and Ramia must resolve this on their own. All we can do is to give them our support."

Even with the Prince's advice, Lavian could not help but feel apprehensive as she looked back at Ramza's predicament.

Ramia did not seem to have noticed the shout or the audience she had attracted, her gaze fixed at the man lying before her, tapping her sword ever so closely to his neck. "Tell me one good reason not to kill you where you lay, _father_?" She spat the label, as she would do a curse.

Despite being endangered, Ramza smiled as he replied, "It's not in your blood and…" his smile then faded, his gaze shifting beyond Ramia to where Agrias slept by the fire. "…your mother would be deeply hurt."

The young Holy Knight had gone white, Ramza's words having kindled a faint memory within her heart that soon engulfed her very soul…

_"Mama, where's Papa?"_

_It was an innocent question, one that Agrias had hoped to not answer until she knew that Ramia was ready. But her daughter was sharper than she thought and when she looked into her eyes—the same eyes as her father's—they brought back the painful memories that she had kept away for the past five years. She looked away, staring out the window, seeing not the distant palace, but the field where she had parted with Ramza._

_"He's someplace far away," she whispered in answer._

_"Oh," Ramia said innocently. "Will he come back?"_

_The question constricted Agrias' heart, her eyes slightly watering. She quickly dashed those tears away as she tried to smile, both for her daughter's benefit and in the hope that he will return someday. "I believe he will. Until then, you must believe in him so he could be proud of you."_

Ramia's sword shook with the memory, her face a battlefield, revealing the struggle waging within. She shifted her sword away from Ramza then, with an anguished cry, swung her blade towards him…

"Ramia!" Lavian shouted in horror at the same time Delita cried out, "No!"

…only to bury it in the rock next to his head.

Without uttering a word, she walked past him, leaving her sword quivering in the earth.

The others stepped aside as she marched past them, the light of the fire revealing the turmoil on her face.

She did not turn to look at them, her eyes focused at the cavern's entrance. She thrust the blanket aside, the cold wind hitting her full in the face as she stepped out.

The blanket shut out the elements once more as it swung back into place, but it seemed a cool wind still blew into the cavern, leaving everyone paralyzed with concern and sympathy for Ramia.

Lavian was the first to break the uneasy silence. "Are you not going after her?" she asked Ramza.

"No," he answered as he pulled his daughter's sword free. "Let her be alone for a while. She'll return when she's ready." With that said, he turned away to continue his watch over Agrias.

Lavian could not readily agree to Ramza's request, wondering how the Beoulve could act so callous of his own daughter. She grabbed her sword, motioning to Alicia to follow her as she hurried after the young Holy Knight. They were stopped, however, when Raizen walked into their path.

"You should heed Ramza's request," he said, expressing his disapproval. "His is the voice of an anxious parent. Do not be fooled by his bleak manner."

"Then why does he not go after her?" Lavian questioned him in challenge. "To make her understand the truth?"

Raizen sighed as he shook his head. "Ramia needs time to think. Her mind must feel about like the blizzard roaring out there." He then walked forward, pausing for a moment when he reached Lavian's side. "One cannot force the truth upon others," he whispered without glancing at her. "You should know for are you not a heretic as well bearing a terrible truth?" He resumed his walk without awaiting an answer, but before taking his full leave of them, he paused yet again.

"But if it will make you feel any better, I will go and have a talk with her." He turned back to look at Lavian and gave a faint smile. "I understand what she's going through. Perhaps sharing my past experience with her can ease the turmoil within her heart. The decision to accept or deny the truth, however, will ultimately be hers."

"You're right," Lavian conceded, nodding slowly, then with a slight smile, added, "You really are your mother's son. Always finding a peaceful way of solving things." She then bowed and said, "I thank you for what you are doing," before returning to the fire, Alicia following silently behind.

Raizen gazed after them, unsure that the outcome of his upcoming discussion with Ramia would be a happy one.

* * *

Ramia trudged through the blinding snow, hunched against the fierce winds that buffeted her, arm held up in a futile attempt to shield her eyes. That proved unnecessary, however, for the snow blotted out all traces of any object from her sight.

Including the monsters that had managed to surround her.

A growl from behind forced her to stop in her path. She looked back to see a vampire approaching her, its dark purple fur distinguishable through the white darkness. She took a step back, her hand instinctively reaching for her sword, forgetting that she had left it back at the cave. Cursing, she backed away from the animal, its fangs bared in anticipation of the kill.

Another growl from behind halted her retreat.

Glancing back, she saw another vampire advancing. "Great," she muttered, shifting her gaze back and forth between the two panthers. "Perfect to be caught out in a storm unarmed."

She looked around, hoping to find something to use as a weapon, but all she could see was a field of snow. The vampires began to prowl about her, savoring her fear. Her hand went back to her sword belt, thinking to use the empty scabbard as a club of some sort. As she began to unbuckle the belt, her hand brushed against something. She looked down and saw it was the hilt of a dagger. In her moment of confusion and panic, she had forgotten about the dagger she always wore at her side.

"Well, I'm not completely unarmed," she murmured in relief as she drew it out and brandished it at the nearest vampire, which roared in turn as if accepting her challenge. It then pawed the air before her, its claws extended. It seemed to be taunting her.

"You've picked the wrong day to attack me," she growled, her confusion turning to frustration as she swung her dagger at the vampire.

The panther jumped back and hissed, its fur rising in anger. Seeing Ramia distracted by its partner, the other vampire charged from behind, roaring.

Ramia roared in answer, turning just as the panther lunged at her, her dagger already moving to intercept, scoring a long scratch across its belly. She then began to run as the panther landed, knowing that only armed with a dagger, she has no chance against the beasts.

She ran, both the wounded panther and its partner at her heels, their roars deafening even in the howl of the storm. They were soon drowned out by a louder roar that seemed to echo all around her until she almost fell to its source. She looked down in astonishment at the river that roared below her.

Water, white-frothed and bubbling, swirled and eddied among the rocks, the current too strong that to fall was to risk being swept away.

Ramia slowly backed away from the edge of the cliff, glancing over her shoulder to see the two panthers had caught up with her. "Great," she muttered again, stuck between a raging river and two angry vampires. She turned around to face the beasts, backing up as she went until her heels touched the edge of the cliff. She glanced back again then at the panthers, brandishing her dagger.

The wounded panther pounced first, looking to even the score, claws extended to make a similar scratch across Ramia's belly.

The young Holy Knight quickly sidestepped to avoid the panther's attack, but cried out when she slipped on a patch of ice and tumbled over the cliff. She managed to grab onto the ledge, avoiding a plunge to the freezing depths below. But now she was vulnerable, watching in dread as both panthers peered over the ledge. Hanging precariously over the cliff, she swung her dagger at the beasts, hoping to drive them back.

"Be gone, beasts!" she cried out, trying her best to keep her grip while slashing her dagger at the panthers' faces when they got too close. The exertion of attacking while suspended above the raging river was soon taking a toll on her, feeling her fingers slip slowly on the rock.

The vampires became aware of her fatigue, waiting her out until she could not retaliate any more as they paced back and forth in a deliberate manner along the rim of the cliff. Her swings began to slow, as she began to lose her grip on the stone.

She was going to fall!

Sensing her distress, the panthers moved in for the kill, maws wide in parody of a smile. One raised its paw, claws extended, and was about to swipe at Ramia when suddenly…

…two brightly fletched arrows thudded into the beast's side.

It roared in pain and anger, its cries later joined by its partner as it suffered the same fate of two arrows. Both vampires recoiled from the attack, hoping to gain higher ground from their enemies.

Ramia was partially relieved when the vampires disappeared from the edge of the cliff, intent now on maintaining her grip. Her arm shook with the strain, beads of sweat forming on her forehead despite the cold. She felt her fingers slip one by one; first, her thumb, then her little finger…

_No!_, she thought desperately as her last finger gave way and she was plunging towards the freezing waters…

…only to be saved by a strong arm.

"I've got you!" a voice cried down to her.

Ramia looked up to see who had saved her from a watery grave, surprised to see Raizen's handsome face looking down at her. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, all vestiges of panic forgotten in the heat of her anger of being followed.

"What does it look like?" the Prince shot back, taken aback by Ramia's audacity despite the fact that she was suspended above a rampant river. "Saving your behind! Now stop struggling! It's hard for me to pull you up as it is!"

Scowling, Ramia complied, allowing Raizen to pull her up to safety. When she was close enough to the ledge, she grabbed onto it with her other hand and pushed herself up to solid ground, taking a moment to catch her breath before standing to glare at the Prince. "What are you doing here?" she asked again.

Raizen sighed. "As I said, I came here to save you. Is this how you show your gratitude?"

Ramia snorted, either in disbelief or in disgust, the Prince didn't know. He watched her as she gazed around, her frown deepening when she caught sight of his companions. He turned also just in time to see Cloud twirling his huge blade in the air in victory before sheathing it behind his back. Wolfen and Jovel joined him as they began to skin the vampires.

"I see you weren't alone in coming."

Raizen turned back to Ramia, who scowled disapprovingly at him, her arms crossed across her chest. Clearly, she was angry with them for following her at a time she wanted to be alone. He closed his eyes and let out a breath, disciplining patience at her hot-temperedness.

He found himself back at Yardow, at that first meeting he had with the young Commander of the Lesalian Knighthood. Back then, he could not find any words to calm her, but now, he was forced to find them, to ease this young woman's troubled heart. Bitterness had left cruel marks on her, making it difficult for her to heal them and to accept what she had believed to be truth throughout her whole life. To learn that your father was the Heretic that everyone has been searching for, that you've been told to capture, could shatter anyone's vision of the truth.

_I doubt any words of mine could clear her confusion, could place those shattered pieces of her life back together_, he thought, opening his eyes to face Ramia's fierce gaze.

"Well thanks, for what it's worth," she stated with a shrug before turning away. "Now if you'll excuse me, I want to be alone."

She started to walk away, but Raizen quickly grabbed her shoulder. "It's not easy, isn't it, Ramia?" he whispered in sympathy.

"Easy?" Ramia scoffed, shrugging off Raizen's hand as she whirled around in anger. "Tell me, Prince, how would you feel? How would you feel to know that your father is worse than a brigand? That your father is _the_ Heretic that is the cause of all of this chaos?! Tell me!"

Raizen did not flinch at her outburst. Instead, he stared at her with perfect calm, his bearing exuding a quiet strength like a pillar in the midst of a furious storm. "It's better than discovering your father killed your own mother," he returned softly, his eyes seeming to speak volumes so much so that Ramia immediately felt disarmed, her anger dissipating.

The Prince slowly turned his gaze towards the east, towards that land he had grown up with his father. "Believe it or not, you and I are not so different. Innocent people raised in ignorance. I grew up believing that my mother died from thieves raiding our village, never knowing that my mother was royalty, that _both_ my parents were royalty. My father hid the truth from me until we happened upon Ramza." He returned his gaze to Ramia. "It was then, seven years ago, that my father told me everything including the reason why he had kept silent. Do you know that reason, Ramia?"

"To protect you?" Ramia replied, recalling Ramza's earlier words.

"In a way, yes," Raizen nodded. Ramia looked at him strangely, prompting him to explain: "My father didn't want me to share his burden, his guilt. He didn't want me to be burdened by the past, to keep my honor intact."

"Your…honor…" Ramia whispered. She again recalled the conversation she had with Ramza, the words suddenly ringing clear.

_He may be a criminal to most, but to some he is considered brave and just, a good man who sacrificed his nobility for the sake of others. _

_Was that it, _she thought. _Did he leave to protect us not only from physical danger, but to also keep our honor intact? Did he leave so that he could bear the shame of his crime alone? _

The confusion slowly faded away from her facade and, like the rising sun dispelling the darkness of night, understanding dawned. A door has been opened, revealing those who had also kept the truth away from her…

The time she had asked her adoptive parents about her heritage and how they had lied to her about her mother dying in a riot at Zarghidas Trade City.

The time she had questioned Lord Oaks of why the nobles loathed him before she discovered that he was her grandfather by blood.

Even her own mother had been silent, only telling her the heroic deeds of her father without revealing his name.

The shattered pieces of her life were finally falling into place, creating a new picture, a new view.

It was the image of her acceptance.

"I'm…such a fool," she muttered, shaking her head in remorse. "To believe my father left because he was a coward…"

"There's no shame in that," Raizen said, smiling softly when she looked up at him. "Having left you before you were born, it's only natural of you to think of it. But now," he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, "will you trust him? Will you believe in him?"

_Until then, you must believe in him so he could be proud of you._

That one line brought tears in her eyes, stirring up a sudden longing kept deep in her heart, a longing from her childhood: the longing to know her father. "I will believe in him," she whispered, a part of her—that child who grew up without her father—desperately wanting to know him.

The turbulent storm in her heart finally calmed, Raizen's words guiding her to gentle waters and soft breezes. In an unprecedented move, she hugged the Prince, whispering, "Thank you."

Raizen was taken aback by the unexpected embrace, his body stiffening in response. It took a moment for the shock to wear off and for compassion to take its place, encircling his arms around her in return.

As the two stood in quiet reflection, the biting winds gradually stilled, no longer howling in anger. "Ramia, look," Raizen said softly, wonder in his voice. He pointed to the sky, shafts of sunlight radiating through the parting clouds, the surrounding snow sparkling brightly so that it seems they were among the clouds.

Ramia looked around, seeing how beautiful the valley really was even covered in layers of snow.

"Let's go back," Raizen said, turning to Ramia. "Everyone must be worried."

Ramia nodded, her gaze transfixed at the scenic valley. She then smiled, quickly grabbing Raizen's hand and pulling him along, exclaiming "Let's go!", as she ran towards where Cloud and the others waited.

* * *

A myriad of emotions stirred within Ramza's heart as he sat by Agrias' side: self-pity, regret, anguish, guilt… His hand clasped hers, his worn, wearied eyes, gazing intently at her. "I'm sorry, Agrias," he spoke softly to her, his voice cracking in grief, "to have put you through all of this suffering. I shouldn't have left you. I should have stayed to protect both you and Ramia, to have raised her together, to have been…a family." He smiled softly. "Perhaps we can still be a family, but," he squeezed her hand, "you must live Agrias! You have to live! You can't leave Ramia and me now that we are together..."

He then looked down at the naked blade lying on the floor next to him, letting go of Agrias' hand as he took up the weapon. "Ramia…" he whispered, his thoughts suddenly turning towards his daughter as he gazed at the steel. He recognized the sword as it belonging to Agrias, now passed down to Ramia. "Do you think she will accept me, Agrias?" he wondered out loud. "Do you think she will accept me for who I am just as you had accepted me all those years ago?"

The blade glowed faintly in the light of the fire. It seemed to be possessed by a sentience, as if answering him.

Ramza sighed as he placed the blade down and took up Agrias' hand once more. "I wish it to be so. What would I give to hear my own daughter call me—"

"Papa...?"

Ramza sighed. "It would be nice to hear that from her. It would make any father—" He paused, suddenly struck by what he heard. "Papa…" He quickly looked over his shoulder.

Ramia stood a few feet away, staring at him with dark and burning eyes. She seemed hesitant as she continued to stand, unmoving. Her face, pale and vulnerable and quiet, was that of a lost child.

"Ramia…" Ramza softly called out to her. He stood up and approached her slowly, his arms extended, wishing only to comfort her.

Suddenly, she made a convulsive lunge towards him.

"Papa!" she cried brokenly, and it was not the lady's voice who spoke, but the voice of the child, longing, lonely.

She ran into Ramza's arms, embracing him as she cried into his chest, her tears of joy soaking his tunic.

Ramza slowly wrapped his arms around her lovingly, protectively, comfortingly, like a father should for their child.

"It's all right," he soothed, gently stroking her hair. "I'm here now. Your Papa's here now, Ramia…

"My…Ramia…"

**Author's Note**

Dear reader:

Thank you for reading this far. Unfortunately, like all good fanfics, this one seems to end at the climax. Fortunately, I plan on finishing this one even if it takes me another ten years! But first and foremost, I want to finish up my other FFT fanfic before continuing on with this one. The reason will become apparent when the next chapter comes out.


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